Hemp Flowers Meant Fate
by MufuMufuSan
Summary: After being cursed to die, Harry finds the will to live. Sky Arcobaleno!Harry, gen. MOD elements.
1. Prologue

**Hemp Flowers Meant Fate**

 _Prologue_

 _This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form._

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own KHR, HP, or any of its wonderful characters.

 **Warnings:** Character death, angst. Some mentions of blood. Depression.

 **A/N:** Another crossover? Me? Yes, yes indeed. School and life has been taking turns knocking me down and out, so I've been doing my best to escape reality through a variety of things. Such as writing. Or drawing. Or something, lololololol. I also wanted to do my own take on the very popular trope of hanahaki disease. And another take on Harry being the 2nd Arcobaleno.

Enjoy!

* * *

Hemp flowers meant _fate_.

So of course that was the first bouquet of flowers he had coughed up, in some sort of twisted irony. Harry had stared at the fistful of slimey and bloodstained flowers, before tossing them into the fireplace at Grimmauld Place and desperately tried to forget about it. After the war, Harry had became rather desolate and socially unadaptable, holing himself up in Grimmauld Place and never showing his face to the public since the rebuilding of Hogwarts was done. He was done with the world, done with life, and done with people; he was just _done_ in general, and that meant he was done suffering from the fate that he had once held on his shoulders.

 _Forget, and move on_ ; this was his motto for the past two years after the war, and Harry didn't want to change that now. Even as the burning sensation increased in his chest, in his lungs, and was slowly suffocating him.

It had hurt to gag and cough up those flowers, and Harry had assumed that they were growing inside his lungs, and were being ripped out forcibly. Thus the blood.

He should really go get this checked out.

Especially as the hemp flowers turned to _hemlocks_ , and if Harry studied correctly, that meant, _you'll be the death of me_.

"Where are you going again, mate?" Ron asked as he gobbling up a quick meal before he had to return to his shift. Hermione was also there, all of them holding a conversation via magic mirror. Harry had gotten the idea from Sirius, and while it brought a bout of painful nostalgia and regret, he liked the idea of his friends being able to reach him easier through this. And vice versa.

"He's going to France," Hermione reminded her fiance with a roll of her eyes. She was shuffling through various legal documents and Ministry paperwork with a pursed expression, brown eyes shifting between that and the mirror. "Which brings us to the question, _why_? Wanderlust? You?" Hermione's lips twitched, and Harry huffed.

"To get away," Harry replied, ignoring Hermione's playful jab at his hermit lifestyle.

"From what?" Ron raised a pale eyebrow at him, mouth full of sandwich and crisps. He swallowed and continued, "From Kreacher? Don't blame you there, mate," Ron shuddered, eyes narrowing slightly at the mention of the morose house elf.

"Change of scenery," Harry shrugged, rubbing absently at his chest. The burning sensation was slowly tearing his chest apart, and he cleared his throat in discomfort; the pain numbing potions could only do so much when flowers were growing in his lungs. "I want to eat some crepes," he offered a bit more.

"Crepes?" Hermione mused.

"Oh," Ron sounded a bit wistful. "Well, bring me some back, okay? And also some of those baguettes the French are so well-known for. And a souvenir-"

"Weasely! Your break is _over_ , and you have not clocked back in yet," a harsh voice sounded, and Ron jerked, instantly reaching over to the magic mirror and turning it off. His connection was cut off as abruptly as this whole conversation started, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Manners, Ronald," Hermione muttered.

"Was that Draco?" Harry asked, tilting his head. Huh.

Hermione's mouth thinned, narrowing her eyes in thought. Her paperwork and Ministry work momentarily forgotten, her expression was thoughtful. "Maybe," she hedged, at last. "I'll have to ask later. If you do go to France, just dress warmly, and don't forget your protection charms. I got to go, but I'll just be a ca- _mirror_ away," Hermione told him, and Harry lazily saluted her.

"Aye aye, captain," Harry said, with a slight smirk. "Good luck drowning in paper cuts and politics," he told her, and Hermione groaned, before the connection cut between them. His pale and tired face greeted him, and Harry quickly put away the mirror, unable to stand the wide and morose green eyes and expressionless face.

France.

Harry felt like this mystery disease was going to kill him. He wanted to experience a few things first, though. Death never frightened him, and if this was fate's way of telling him to finally fucking die, then he'd go willingly. It never felt like he had much of a life outside of war and Voldemort anyways, outside the prophecy and the press of the Wizarding World. Despite literally dying and coming back to finish the war, it seemed like his life still wasn't his own after the war, and the reconstruction of Hogwarts.

Depressed, Hermione had told him.

 _Maybe_.

"Master," Kreacher's weepy voice jerked Harry out of fixing his outfit over and over again. It was a simple outfit with slacks, dress shoes, a crisp button up with a vest; his tie was traded in for a trendy black bow, and he had suspenders underneath his sleek black vest. It was a far cry from the outfits he had suffered through from his childhood, and while he'd normally wouldn't go so far as to dress up normally... It _had_ been awhile since he left Grimmauld Place, and he was finally wearing something other than 5 day old clothes and had taken a shower.

His self-esteem was at a down-low is what he was trying to say.

Dress to kill, and all that.

"What is it?" Harry blinked at the house elf, who had packed up his clothes and all the essentials he needed to visit France. "Is my stuff ready?" Harry asked, pulling out his wand from it's holster on his hip; disillusionment charms and his hefty dark cloak should help hide any magical sense that should come from him. Thinking about that now made him realize that all the time picking out his outfit was kind of moot now.

"It is," Kreacher sniffed. "And you have some inquiries from that house traitor," he added darkly, despite wiping at his eyes continuously. His voice was scratchy and thin, and dug into Harry's ears painfully.

"Oh, Andromeda?" Harry mused. "She must be worried about me, then," Harry sighed, remembering his last conversation with her and his godson. His godson was obviously excited for him- well, considering that he was still young, he was generally excited for Harry no matter what. Andromeda was a bit less... aimable, worried for him as he told her that he was venturing out of his house and into the world wide unknown.

As it turns out, he wasn't the only one suffering from social reclusiveness.

After losing most of her family, especially to previous family members, she was extremely protective of her remaining ones. Harry included, it seemed. Still, even she managed to show her face to the public ever once a blue moon, in order to promote good social habits and etiquette into Teddy. Harry had no such wishes.

"Do you wish to reply?" Kreacher said, still sour.

"I'll do that when I come back," Harry admitted, with faux-cheer. If he answered now, he'd be swept up with the desire to crawl back into his bed and sleep for the next few days. He needed to go, and it needed to be now. Or _never_. "Tell her that I have already left the premise, and should be back shortly."

With a shrinking spell, Harry had transformed his luggage into a rather simple bracelet, and it hung from his skinny wrist. With a simple wave at the grouchy house elf, Harry headed towards the Floo, grabbed some Floo powder, and exited via fireplace.

-0-0-0-

The soot and the ash from the fireplace made him gag, and he had to try and calm himself down before more flowers could be ripped from his lungs and exit through his mouth. It wasn't an easy task due to the fact that Harry had to straighten up immediately and hurry over to the establishment's bathroom as quickly as possible, locking the door behind him and collapsing against the bathroom's countertop to gag dryly. His chest burned with a hot tearing sensation, and with watery eyes, Harry finally managed to dislodge some of the flowers inside him.

Castus flowers.

 _Coldness, life without love, indifference_.

Well, doesn't that sound a bit harsh? Harry delicately wrapped up the bloodstained castus flowers in some paper towels, before digging it into the trash bin. He spared himself a glance as he straightened himself up, wiping at his mouth. He briefly wondered if he would need a pepperup potion before shrugging it off; the pain was still there, burning and ragged, and he looked one micrometer away from death- but if anything, he was durable.

When he exited, he was met with stares from the establishment. It was a magical cafe, a more airy and rustic feel than the Leaky Cauldron. Harry schooled his expression into a blank one, even as he wanted to groan and run away from the curious and wild stares. At last, another patron stood up and cleared his throat, coming over.

"Mr. Black?" His accent was thick, and Harry narrowed his eyes. "My name is Ashe Laurent, and I will be your guide to the French Ministry in order to register your presence here in France, and organize your visa for your stay here." Ashe, with pale blond hair and pale grey eyes, gave a cool look at the rest of the patrons in the cafe. "And no one will gossip about this encounter, _oui_?"

Everyone else shifted and glanced away.

"Don't worry about them," Ashe sighed, giving Harry a wan smile. "They are under oath to not mention you here in France, and if they have problems with it, then they should have left when I told them to." Harry nodded, relaxing slightly.

"Thanks," Harry offered awkwardly. "Sorry about my entrance; I'm told that I'm not good with many forms of magical transportation like that," he said sheepishly, with a slight smile.

"It's quite alright," Ashe shrugged, checking his watch. "We have all the time in the world, but I'm sure you're eager to settle in at your hotel as soon as possible. Let's get moving, shall we?"

Harry nodded, and tried to ignore the stifling feeling of growth inside his chest. It was time to fill out paperwork, and that was always boring and painful. Even more so than the feeling of dread and pain that still ripped through his lungs every time he hitched a breath.

-0-0-0-

"Have you settled in, Harry?" Hermione asked, with Ron slumped over the couch beside her. Both of them were lounging and existing together, with one of their mirrors connected to his. Harry shrugged, biting into the citrus-sweet of the orange he had painstakingly peeled.

"After all that paperwork and gawking from this place, yeah," Harry hedged, between mouthfuls of his snack. Ron had lifted his head to squint at him, before his expression fell into slight jealously and he stood up, mumbling something about food and hungry. Hermione rolled her eyes, before they focused back on him with unwavering intensity.

Uh-oh.

"I received an owl from Andromeda earlier," Hermione started.

"And she's worried, I know," Harry cut in, scowling halfheartedly. "Honestly, I'm not 5, 'Mione. And I get that's she's worried because she cares, but I don't need her to hold my bloody hand at times, especially when I'm trying to enjoy myself," he grumbled.

Hermione sighed. "She's just worried; we all are," she tried to justify. Harry just hardened his stare and Hermione relented with an uneasy expression. Ron came back with an armful of snacks, bread and bowls of steaming soup. No doubt sent over by his mother, and Harry's stomach rumbled in retaliation.

"And you don't need to be," Harry replied, finishing off his orange. The acidity of it hurt his stomach, burned his throat, but he remembers reading somewhere that vitamin C helped immune systems. He didn't know if that would help cure his flower disease, or something, but it made him feel a bit better about himself.

"We don't need to be, but we do," Hermione scoffed. "We care about you, Harry. No matter how much of a social hermit you have become," she rolled her eyes.

"Or how much of an arse you can act like sometimes," Ron interjected, making Harry sputter.

"We will care for you no matter what. We've been through a lot," Hermione finished smoothly, ignoring her fiance's interruption with years of practiced patience and exasperation. Harry scowled, but collapsed against the lush pillows and silk sheets that his hotel suite provided him.

"I get it, just don't act so... suffocating with it," Harry finally said, tired and still slightly hungry. His chest felt rather heavy, from his unknown disease and the onset feelings of mournful regret. His friends, family, cared for him, and here he was; keeping secrets. He scratched at his chest absently with a wan smile; it was for the best, it _had_ to be.

His friends and family deserved the best, and deserved to move on without him.

They didn't need to suffer with him when tackling this unknown disease. No doubt they'd rack the world, both muggle and magical, to help find him a cure. Maybe after awhile, they'd realize that Harry had accepted death no matter how it came to him, but not before heartbreak and frustration. _This isn't the time with you-know-who, Harry_ , no doubt they'd yell at him, _you don't need to die yet!_

Everyone dies eventually.

Why should Harry be any different?

"Mate?" Ron's voice interrupted Harry's train of thought, and he hummed to let them know he was listening. "You okay there, mate?"

"Fantastic," Harry drawled, with a wan smile.

Ron and Hermione stared at him skeptically, and Harry just stared back evenly. At last, they relented with a sigh and Hermione said, "We're going to let you rest, Harry; perhaps you'll feel better tomorrow?"

"No promises," Harry nodded, sitting up. Everything in his chest shifted, and Harry felt the familiar onset of a coughing fit creeping up on him. "Talk to you guys tomorrow, sleep well, don't forget to brush your teeth, and all that," Harry mimicked a fluttery mother hen, making Hermione snort and Ron grin.

"Whatever, mum," Ron responded in good.

"We should be telling _you_ that," Hermione grumbled, and the connection was cut.

Just in time for Harry rush to the bathroom as his coughing fit shuddered through him, tearing his chest in half. Begonia flowers this time, and Harry stared at the flowers, breathing harshly through his teeth and his body still trembling from his attack.

 _Deformed; beware._

Either his flowers were telling him that he was deformed, or to beware.

From what? Harry sighed and shoved the begonia flowers into the trash bin and covered them up with toilet paper. Hermione was right, maybe some sleep would do him some good. He'll wake up tomorrow to have a light French breakfast, and go explore the part of France he was in, Nice. By tomorrow night, he'll be in Paris, France, and then he could go discover the catacombs the day after tomorrow. Smokey French cafes and the Eiffel Tower were also on his wishlist. He'll be very busy, and he didn't want to waste his precious time with worrying over what his diseased flowers were trying to tell him.

Maybe beware of all the crepes he was going to gorge himself on tomorrow, Harry thought with a slight smirk as he got ready for bed. He refused to acknowledge the feeling of dread and trepidation that came with thinking about the newest type of flowers he had dislodged out of his lungs.

In hindsight, that was rather foolhardy of him to wish for something like that.

He was Harry James Potter, after all.

-0-0-0-

Kawahira watched the dying Luce with cold eyes.

Her daughter was a weeping mess beside the dying Sky, her mother. Kawahira was standing stiffly off to one side, unhurried and quite awkward. While death was no stranger to him, it was still rather awkward to watch the Sky Arcobaleno curse finish it's business. Soon, the last of Luce's Flames would be sucked away, and the pacifier would look for another to help satisfy its need for balance and harmony, another Sky to help feed its insatiable hunger. The plan was for it to claim Aria as it's next Sky Arcobaleno, and thus the cycle would begin anew.

The rest of the Arcobaleno had refused to flock to the Giglio Nero main mansion, still sore and unable to face the traitorous Sky that had lead them right into the curse of the Arcobaleno. It was rather petty and childish in Kawahira's opinion, but Luce had accepted her fate with the same bittersweet smile and regal air she was known for.

" _Mama_ ," Aria was only 14, edging on 15, and she was suffering. Her own pure Sky Flames were wrenching around, almost overwhelming in their intensity and her mother, who smiled weakly at her. " _Non andare già via_ ," she sobbed. Kawahira mentally translated it to _don't go away just yet_ , and he had to hold back a sigh of aggravation.

" _Non te la prendere_ ," Luce mused. _Don't get upset_.

Kawahira wanted to roll his eyes. Humans and their need for dramatics, he mused. It was death, and Luce knew what she was getting into. Even if she disagreed with it it, which she didn't, it wouldn't have mattered; it was fate. And humans, at the very least, needed to help the world keep it's balance after ruining so much of it. No matter how much they were _Sepira's_ descendants, and how much they looked like her, and no matter how much of Sepira's very own presence carried into their Sky Flames.

" _Signore_ ," Aria whirled on him, and Kawahira cocked an eyebrow. He highly doubted it carried over through his iron mask, but Aria's expression crumpled before hardening. Grief was a human emotion, Kawahira thought. " _Please, please, release the curse on my mama_ ," Aira hissed, and Luce choked an a chuckle behind her. " _She at least deserves to live her last moments free from her curse_ ," Aria pleaded, wiping her eyes on her sleeves.

" _Hm_ ," Kawahira mused, before saying a very blunt, " _No._ "

" _You_ monster _,"_ Aria snarled at him, angrily and mournful.

" _Aria_ ," Luce murmured, careful and wistful. " _Don't be angry,_ " Luce smiled and Aria made a wounded noise, turning back towards her with wide and watery eyes. " _I want to spend these last moments looking at your smiling face_ ," she told her seriously, taking Aria's attention away from the silent and rigid Kawahira.

As the two Skies conversed, Kawahira melted back into the shadows and background furniture.

He was just here to make sure the pacifier accepted Aria, and to move on.

Back to travelling the world, and just existing, watching the world pace itself and run on by. Revel in the novelties that humans brought, reminiscing for the lost race that he was once apart of, lost in trying to live next to humans, who he still partly blamed for taking everything away from him. He'll live like this until it was Aria's time to go, and by the time the third Sky Arcobaleno had lived with this curse, then maybe the rest of the Arcobaleno would probably be ready to shift onto another sort of cursed existence.

And then another set of Arcobaleno would have to be chosen.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

This cycle will go on until humans finally die out. Perhaps the world itself would be ready to retire by then. Or maybe another lifeform would be ready to take care of the Arcobaleno curse, and the world. Kawahira felt apprehension thinking about the future, and felt the familiar tiredness ache in his bones.

" _Signore_ ," Luce's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he shifted his stare onto her. She was smiling, weakly, and her eyes were growing distant and cloudy. Aria was sobbing loudly into the bedsheets, fists clenching painfully at her mother's hand and the bed, frame shaking from the force of her grief. " _I think it's... time..._ ," Luce told him, and Kawahira expanded his senses.

Her Flame, which was one of the strongests in the world, was nothing but a faint whisper, a faint ember. It was somewhat disappointing. Her pacifier, the Sky's pacifier, was glowing and sputtering a tacky orange, signifying Luce's end of term. End of life.

Her death.

" _I think so too_ ," Kawahira murmured, stepping forward. Luce's pacifier was resting on her tiny chest, not hanging around her neck. It would have been quite awkward to have maneuvered it off of her dead corpse anyways, so Kawahira was slightly grateful. He cupped the warm pacifier with both of his hands, supplementing it with his own Mist flames; it was to temper it with his own flames, to gently wrench it away from Luce's own fading one, and transfer it to the new Sky.

" _Mama, mama_ ," Aria sobbed.

Luce's voice was distant, as she closed her eyes peacefully, and she said, " _You'll always be loved by me, Aria_."

And she died.

A silent release of breath, and Kawahira had to stop a grimace. Death was never a pretty thing. The pacifier had latched greedily onto Kawahira's Flames, and he had release another low sigh; already, it was searching for a suitable Sky Flame. It's reach could literally extend across the world, but considering that a very powerful Sky Flame was literally mourning and slouched over a bed right next to it, it should latch onto her pretty quickly.

As Kawahira was about to wedge the pacifier into Aria's clenched and pale hands, something unpredictable happened.

It refused.

 _Okay. What the hell_.

Kawahira huffed, already pulling back from a very bewildered Aria. Her expression was crumpled, and her eyes were red; in fact, her whole face was blotchy with tears and an unhealthy flush. Her blue eyes vividly reminded Kawahira of Sepira, and he had to try to stop the dark shudder and mood that came over him.

" _W-what... happened?_ " Aria sounded confused. Hopeful. Confused. Distraught.

" _It seems like today is your lucky day_ ," Kawahira drawled, making Aria's expression darken. " _I don't need to explain myself, or the pacifier, to you."_ He was already stepping back into the more secluded parts of the room, darker with shadows, and he was already instigating his Mist Flames to help him. " _Have a nice day, Aria; I may or may not be back depending on factors. Ciao."_

Aria sputtered and stared, and Kawahira was displaced with his Mist Flames.

It was time to find the unlucky Sky that the pacifier had taken a liking to.

-0-0-0-

Harry had woken up in the middle of the night, and had coughed up mountain laurels.

 _Glory, victory, ambitions of a hero._

-0-0-0-

Harry had a sinking feeling all day, and it lasted through the night. He felt like he was being watched, and couldn't feel comfortable in his skin. The flowers that had taken the place of the mountain laurels were growing in full in his chest, and he felt eerily paranoid. Sadly, though, he couldn't tell if he was feeling this way due to being in a new place, and finally being out of his house for the first time in, like, forever.

Or something was going to happen.

Harry desperately wished for the former, despite the small voice telling him to prepare for the latter.

It was only when he was sitting in one of those smokey French cafes did something happen. Or someone, rather. Dressed rather peculiarly, and not being noticed by muggles, Harry was instantly on guard. Sadly, though, it was illegal to apparate in public in France due to the high probability of being found out. If you needed to apparate, you had to head to one of the more secure and safe apparition spots located here and there around the country. He had froze as the man walked up to his table, and sat down as casually as if they were long-time friends.

He soon found his composure and continued to nibble on his muffin, and sip his tea. His chest felt tight and uneasy, but the last thing he wanted was to appear with any weakness to a complete unknown. Harry eyed the unknown man, and wondered if he was a lingering Death Eater sympathizer, or maybe just a rabid fan. But his intent didn't feel malicious, just really... callous, and cold.

Harry had to give him props for that.

"Magical," the man mused, coolly. "No wonder I never knew about you," he said, more cheerful. Around his neck was a pacifier, a baby pacifier, that was flickering an odd orange color. Harry's eyes narrowed in on it, oddly drawn to it. His chest itched.

"Not know me? That's a first," Harry responded, after a long sip of tea. "I thought I'd meet a lot of people who think they know me," he mused. "What do you want?"

"Peace, peace," the man smiled. Harry only raised an eyebrow at him, expectant. "What if I just wanted to make conversation?"

"With your attire? And general... creepiness?" Harry scoffed, rudely. He rolled his eyes. "Don't waste my time, please. I'm on a tight schedule, and need to move on soon." Double meanings laced his words, a bit self-deprecating.

"Good instincts, I guess," the man mused, mostly to himself. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Common sense, I think," Harry said. Impatience was slowly starting to seep in, and Harry had to remind himself that patience yields focus. And makes him generally less of a dick most of the time, but Harry could hardly bring himself to care on some days. Today was one of those days.

"I'll be blunt," the man had said, at last. "You have been chosen."

"Lucky me," Harry grumbled, already not liking this. "What have I been chosen for? Money? Food? A survey?"

"To die," the man said, blunt as he could.

Silence, a bit of one-sided heaviness.

 _Again_? "That all?" Harry tried to sound as unimpressed as he could.

"Are you not afraid?" The man sounded painfully amused and slightly bewildered. Harry couldn't see it, but he had a feeling that he was cocking an eyebrow at him. "Most would be afraid of death," he stated the obvious.

Harry gave him a wan smile. "I'm not most people, and death is nothing to be afraid of. It's apart of life, and death is just the next great adventure," he quoted solemnly, feeling the general rise of bitterness and regret that came with thinking of his late headmaster. "That, and it won't be the first time I have died, and I'm already on a death sentence as it is."

It was painfully silent and awkward now.

"Then I'm sure you'll accept this more easily, then," the man finally hedged, voice oddly blank. None of the inflicted sarcasm and patronizing tone that was there before. "There is a something call the Arcobaleno curse, and it is given to those who possess the strongest elements of the Sky in the world. As the name suggests, it's a curse, and while it slightly differs in your case, the point is; you will be cursed."

"Been there, done that," Harry mused, feeling oddly affronted. Another curse wasn't something he was really willing to go under, but if he was dying already... "I guess the curse is going to kill me?"

"You guess right," the man affirmed. "Your curse will be under the Sky Arcobaleno pacifier. Your curse will tie your existence in with a few others, other elements of the Sky. You don't have to meet them, or anything if you don't want to, just know that your existence will somewhat affect them. Somewhat."

"Others are already cursed?" Harry raised an eyebrow. The Arcobaleno Curse didn't sound familiar at all.

"The person before you to have received the Sky Arcobaleno Curse has already assembled them, and has recently died," the man told him seriously. Harry twitched, and frowned. "You originally weren't supposed to be the second Sky Arcobaleno of this set, but the pacifier wanted you." Harry's eyes once again narrowed at the pacifier dangling from the man's neck, and he sighed, heavy and suddenly tired.

"Who was supposed to take it?"

"A recently orphaned 14 year old," the man told him in brutal honesty, not sugarcoating it at all. Harry had froze, and he closed his eyes. Orphaned, huh? He tried to connect the dots and assumed that by that, it must have been their mother who was the previous holder of the pacifier.

"How long will it take to kill me?" Harry asked, watching as the man took off the pacifier and holding it out to him. He gingerly took it, and watched as the fluttery light of the pacifier die down a bit the moment he touched it. And then he felt something, _something_ , latch onto him, and felt a gentle tug inside of him. As soon as he noticed it, the pacifier settled into a strong warmth and glow, the tacky orange a bit hard on the eyes.

"It depends on your Flame, and your will to live," the man told him, seemingly bored now.

 _So not long, then_.

"Thanks," Harry offered awkwardly, slipping the pacifier on. It hung heavily over his tight chest, and Harry felt a coughing attack slowly creeping up on him, warning. It must be the flowers who wanted to warn him of something, or mock him with the meaning in their petals. "I'll see you when I die, then," the man gave him a bitter smile, and then he was suddenly gone.

 _Magic_? Harry narrowed his eyes. But it was too silent for that. Thinking back, he had also said _magicals_ as if he wasn't apart of it. Oh well, he did his job, apparently, and Harry fiddled with his newest accessory.

He suddenly wanted to go back home.

So he did.

But not before he had experienced yet another coughing attack, and only stared morosely at the bay leaves that were covered in his blood and saliva. His chest and throat burned with bile, and his coughing attack, his lingering and persistent coughs was still a bit wet. No doubt with blood.

Bay leaves, huh?

What a joke.

 _I change but in dying; No change till death; I change but in death_

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read.

Some of you might be pleased to know that I have the first chapter of Dying Again 80% done.

Or do I...?

Lolololololol

-mms


	2. Chapter 1

**Hemp Flowers Meant Fate**

 _Chapter 1_

 _This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. If you see an error, please tell me~!_

 **Warnings:** Slight mentions of blood. Body disfiguration, I guess? I mean, flowers are growing out lungs, that's kind of gorey. Rushed writing. Dealing with depression. Attempts at medical lingo that I have no experience in, though I _do_ have experience with depression, haha.

 **A/N:** As for _SilentIndigoMist_ 's question in the reviews, Harry's unrequited love is himself, in a way, haha. Hanahaki disease, for those who don't know, is about unrequited love. Harry, in this story, is a bit depressed, and finds very little self-worth to keep on living. It's going to take a lot for him to recover from his depression, and the two curses he has going on here.

And we haven't even tackled more of the KHR verse, yet. _Yet_.

That might happen next chapter.

That being said, if you have any questions, ask in the reviews! I might answer you! Or I might just include the answer in the next update, haha. Other than that-

Enjoy!

(Also, kudos to _Extended Experience_ for catching the fact that I had originally posted this on 4/20 - _blaze it_ \- and the title included _Hemp_. :'D They're the only one who noticed said fact, so I was really proud my little inside joke was recognized, haha.)

* * *

Dead leaves.

 _Sadness_.

Harry glared balefully at the handful of dead leaves. His chest ached and burned, torn in half from his previous coughing fit. His limbs still trembled, and he felt a bit clammy; his throat burned as if he had swallowed 10 pints of fire whiskey nonstop. His stomach lurched, and Harry sighed, standing up on shaky legs to amble over to his bedroom's trash bin, tossing the dead leaves into them carelessly before staggering back to his bad. With a slight grunt, he fell face first onto his silk and cotton sheets, hating life, hating himself.

The pacifier that he had held for the past few days dug painfully into his chest.

It had been a few days since he had accepted the Arcobaleno curse. It had been a few weeks since he had accepted his flower curse. And he had spent zero time trying to work through any of the two, choosing instead to return to his moping in his bedroom.

 _I'm so pathetic_ , Harry lamented, rolling over to his back. He stared solemnly up at the ceiling. _Whatever happened to the 'man-who-conquered'?_

While Harry wasn't one for self-pity, he was seemingly drowning in it at the moment. Harry felt slightly bitter and irritated with his current mindset, knowing full well that he should be doing more than just laying around and being unproductive. It was just that- he couldn't muster up the energy, couldn't bring himself to care. And on some type of subliminal level, he knew that trying to urge himself to care with his entitled 'man-who-conquered' title was a dead end- was there ever a man-who-conquered, in the first place?

Throughout the war, throughout his school years, and throughout his life- Harry had just felt like Harry, with a whole lot on his shoulders. He never felt like a hero, he never felt famous, he felt tired and angry and mournful. Regretful after the war, dull and lifeless despite earning his chance to live past the whole war with Voldemort.

And it wasn't like he could go to some type of therapy.

Muggle therapy wouldn't know what he had been through, couldn't know, and wouldn't understand in the long run. Magical therapy- Harry remembers the pamphlets that were passed around in the after hours of the war, skimming through them and being slightly unnerved at the brightly colored leaflets. He remembers burning them later on, much to Hermione's disapproval.

He doubted that would work out well for him, anyways. The magical world would have kittens if they found out that Harry wasn't the all-mighty savior he was always portrayed as, unable to process the fact that maybe everything that had happened to Harry had its repercussions.

"Master!" Kreacher appeared in the room with a small 'pop'. His eyes were especially red, and past the tears, anger laced his voice. "You have stupid mudblo-"

"Stop right there," Harry interrupted with a dark look, making Kreacher sniff and glance away. "I thought I told you to stop using that word," Harry reprimanded with a sigh, pushing aside his dark contemplation and thought. "Guests?"

Harry doesn't remember inviting anyone. Or opening the wards to allow people in, actually.

But that slur that he had stopped Kreacher from using, that could only mean-

"Harry!" Hermione's reproachful voice was heard from outside his bedroom door, and Harry groaned, flopping back down onto his bed. Of course, if there was one person who would be able to work through his wards and still somehow find their way in, it would be her.

"I tried to stop her!" Came Ron's unhelpful opinion, and Harry couldn't help but silently snort at that.

"Obviously," Harry called back, dragging himself up. After a moment's thought, he hid the pacifier underneath his shirt, and combed through his hair with his fingers before blanching in disgust. He hadn't taken a shower in a few days, and his hair was greasy and limp, sticking to his forehead. Harry didn't want to think about how he probably appeared, and cursed rather liberally underneath his breath.

Maybe if he applied a few cleaning charms-

Aaaannnd his door was kicked open.

Ron at least had the gall to smile sheepishly at him, before Hermione pushed her way inside.

"...We have magic, you know," Harry commented, as Hermione's sharp brown eyes scanned the room, and him. "You could have totally spelled the door open instead of ruining it like that," he offered a bit more.

"Where's the fun in that?" Ron laughed, before really looking at him. "Woah, mate, you look- er, I mean, you look... wonderful," Ron hedged, with a tight smile. Harry had to give him props for trying, at least. "Doesn't he-"

"You look horrible," Hermione looked personally offended, and Harry blinked.

"That's a bit rude," Harry replied. "What if I was confident in this look? I'm trying to start this season's trend of looking like-"

"Something rubbish and belonging in the trash?" Hermione interrupted, skeptically. She folded her arms, looking reproachfully at him.

Ron mused, "Maybe he was going for a London underground hobo look, 'Mione."

"I was going to say something tragically trendy, but you know what? I'm already offended," Harry finished, a bit spiteful. He looked at a fuming and morose Kreacher, and said, "Can you go fix us something for tea? Please?" Kreacher sniffed, wiping at his eyes, before disappearing after a dark look fixated itself on his guests.

"If looks could kill," Ron said mysteriously.

Hermione rolled her eyes, already pulling out her wand. Harry briefly panicked if his wards around Grimmauld Place was completely ruined now, and he'd have to hurriedly erect a few others so the general public could never find him. Or worse, get in. Hermione caught sight of his expression, and raised an eyebrow, "Don't look so worried, Harry. I only let both Ron and I in, I'm not stupid, you know," she told him.

Harry relaxed. "Thank you so much, 'Mione," he sighed, rubbing at his tight chest. His chest was generally tight nowadays, filled with growth from flowers to plants mocking him about an unknown future and his morose feelings. Probably fueled them, now that he thought about it.

Thoughts to think about, huh.

Hermione busied herself with opening his walk-in closet, and rifling through his clothes. She was frowning, and- well, using her wand. Ron was currently standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with Harry, still lanky and tall as ever.

"You use your wand for this, and not for my door?" Harry asked, glancing at his door. The doorframe was slightly crooked now, as well as the lock looking slightly ajar.

"I don't know what type of mold could have grown on all this," came Hermione's quip reply.

"...Good kinds?"

"There are good kinds of mold?" Ron blinked, and Hermione groaned.

"Harry, you are going to take a shower," she ordered, coming back to the other two males in the room, and shoved some clothes at him. Proper clothes, and not his sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that he was pretty sure he hadn't changed out of in a few days. "Then you will join us for tea, and we'll have a proper discussion about everything that's been going on."

A bit of panic seeped in. "About what?" Harry hedged, shifty-eyed and suspicious.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, after sharing a quick look at Ron. "Everything you're not telling us, obviously," she told him seriously. Harry had to keep his calm as he raised an eyebrow at his two best friends.

"How do you know I'm not telling you guys anything?" Harry challenged.

It was Ron's turn to look personally offended. "We're _best friends_ ," he emphasized. "We're here to emotionally support you," Ron nodded to himself, glancing at Hermione. Hermione sent him an approving smile, which he grinned at.

"Either with your consent, or not," Hermione's brown eyes slid towards Harry, who tried to stand strong. "We are going to emotionally support you whether or not you like it, Harry," Hermione scolded, and Harry twitched.

"Damn our friendship," Harry muttered, hunching in on himself. "You two are somehow very persuasive," he told them as he brushed past them to head to his private bathroom.

After his shower, and his general 'clean-up', the three friends were found in one of the more livable common rooms of Grimmauld Place. Ron was nibbling on the snacks, and Hermione and Harry were staring each other down. Harry refused to say she intimidated him, but she intimidated him, even as she calmly sipped her tea.

"So," Harry finally gave in to stare morosely at his folded hands, starting to play with the edges of his sleeves. He felt a bit better in clean clothes, and after taking a shower. "What do you guys want to know?"

"Whatever's eating at you," Hermione supplied, helpfully. _Everything_ , Harry inwardly sighed. All in all, it was a pretty open question, ambiguous enough even, so much so that Harry could have probably lied through his teeth if-

Well, if it was literally any other person asking that.

After all they have been through, being on the most wanted list of Magical Britain, and literally winning a war with each other- Harry pressed his eyes closed, inwardly snorting at himself. How stupid was he to really think to keep this a secret from his two best friends?

While they respected his privacy and his social life, well lack of that is, Harry really couldn't expect them to _not_ worry about him. As Hermione and Ron both repeated to them, they were best friends.

Which brings him to the question, which should he bring up first? The flowers, or the Arcobaleno curse? In reality, Harry was kind of dreading telling them anything, already knowing the lectures and disapproval at keeping a secret for as long as he did.

And probably at how he literally did nothing to help himself.

Feeling a bit more pathetic, and self-hateful, Harry stifled a groan, tipping his head back.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry mumbled, sitting up straight and mentally bracing himself. "I don't know where to start," or how to start, really. _Ta-da, I'm dying!_

Ron blinked, "Just tell us what you can, we'll work through the rest," he asked, formally. Harry was slightly bewildered at the tone, before remembering that Ron was probably using his authoritative voice on him. He scowled half-heartedly at him, making Ron grin sheepishly. "Sorry," he offered.

"I'm not a weepy little victim you need to patronize," Harry muttered, focusing on his tea. He stirred in a few cubes, and took a tentative sip. It scalded his tongue, burned his throat; it was oddly refreshing. Licking his lips, Harry shot a glance at his patiently waiting best friends, considering.

Arcobaleno curse, or the flower curse?

Logically speaking, the flower curse was the more likely one to kill him. He had been inflicted with it the longest. So- Harry sighed, pressing himself deeper into his chair. His chest burned, and felt oddly heavy. It was slowly becoming a familiar feeling, Harry noted bleakly. Suddenly an idea struck him, and he perked up, slightly. It was slightly morbid, but it was loads easier than telling them all the details, and such.

Instead of _telling_ them about his flower curse, then what about _showing_ them?

"Harry?" Hermione prompted, a bit concerned.

"It's easier if you guys see for yourself," Harry said, pointedly. He pushed himself to the edge of his seat, bracing his forearms on his thighs, mentally preparing himself. It was an experience every time it happened, each time that it happened taking a little bit more away from him.

"Um," Ron said, a bit unsure.

Harry just spared them a slightly morbid smile, before resuming his position and began to cough up the next bouquet of flowers.

Bittersweet Nightshade.

 _Truth_.

-0-0-0-

As it turns out, Harry's bright ideas are never really bright. Nor funny, as Hermione reprimands him, after the panic and general tears.

Harry just weathers it all, already too used to his own dark sense of morbid humor.

-0-0-0-

"So you've been spared from the curse, Aria?"

Aria jerked, turning around. Unable to find the source at eye level, she glanced down and visibly relaxed. Reborn stared up at her, solemn. "Uncle Reborn," she breathed, bending down to be more at level with him, tears springing to her eyes. She wiped them on her sleeves, trying to compose herself. "I was," she admitted, still bewildered and slightly disbelieving of the fact.

The Sky Arcobaleno curse was something she always envisioned herself taking.

So to suddenly- well, _not_ \- she wasn't prepared.

Reborn made a humming sound, turning his face downward. His fedora tilted down slightly, shadowing his face. "This is an unseen outcome," he stated, making Aria nod. "Why aren't you happy?"

Aria startled a bit.

Was- should she be happy? Her mother had just passed away, and Aria was left to figure out running an entire mafia family on her own. She'll never hear her mother's voice again, or see the warmth in her eyes. She'll never have _her_ again- how can she be happy, just because she wasn't cursed? Now that she thought about it, it was _because_ of that curse that she was like this. That curse took her mother away.

And it would have taken her away, too.

Not that Aria would had minded much in her grief, nor with dealing with the aftermath of her mother's death. It would have just been a cherry on top of the cake, really. Still, that curse was _bad_ , Aria reminded herself. And now some poor unsuspecting soul was afflicted with it, and Aria didn't know who, couldn't have the visions to help her.

"Should I?" Aria smiled wanly. "My mother just passed, uncle Reborn. And I'm worried for the newest Sky Arcobaleno." She didn't know if he was a civilian, or a mafioso. As a result of mourning, her family was going through a trial of _respect_. That meant that her family was isolated for a few months, without interference from the rest of the world, mafia or otherwise. Their territories, and business, should be respected and not infringed on, or the Vongola Alliance would have a say in it.

And any underground syndicate with sense wouldn't _dare_ disobey the Vongola Alliance.

"Hm," Reborn eyed her shrewdly. "I'm sorry for your loss," he intoned, without infliction. "I'm sure you know by now that you are not associated with the rest of the Arcobaleno," _besides me_. Aria sighed, nodding again. "There are rumors that are still traveling around that is saying that you are the newest Sky Arcobaleno, so you will be targeted, no matter the trial of respect going on," he told her, factually.

Aria winced, and nodded, trying not to feel paranoid. "I- I see," she said, unsure. She didn't know what to do, or how to do it. She was going blind into this whole family business, and still couldn't bring herself to go into her mother's study.

Reborn's eyes glinted. "Meanwhile, the rest of us are going to look for our newest Sky," he said, a bit bitter. Aria smiled wanly at him, sympathetic and understanding. "We need to make sure they won't be assaulted, and won't be taken advantage of. We have a suspicion that they are a civilian, seeing as of that there are no leads in the underground side of things."

"Um," Aria hesitated. An idea formed in her head, mulling around her skull. "If- if he's consenting, and you guys as well- maybe you can introduce me to him? I- I can offer protection," the heavy weight of the words fumbled off her tongue. Everything she said had a new meaning now. She was the newest don of the Giglio Nero Family, the Sky for them; everything was so different now.

"Are you sure?" Reborn shot her a sharp look. "That's a lot of responsibility," he reminded her.

Aria chewed her lower lip. "I'm sure," she said, more assuredly. "It's the- the only way I can thank him," and she smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. "And it's not like we don't know how to take care of a dying Sky."

Reborn was unmoving and silent.

For a brief second, Aria thought she misspoke, and was about to backtrack awkwardly.

"I suppose," Reborn luckily spoke, voice oddly transparent. "I'll tell the others about it, and make sure they understand the circumstance. I'll check up back on you soon, Aria. Take care," Reborn told her seriously, stepping away and down the hall.

"I will, Reborn," Aria told him, staring after him.

For a brief moment, Aria was worried about the state of her family's security due to how easily it seemed like Reborn was able to come and go. He was included on the list of mafia that should not interrupt the Giglio Nero's trial of respect, but- well, Aria shouldn't be surprised, in the end.

He was the world's greatest hitman, after all.

Aria straightened, suddenly a lot more sure about her path forward. She needed to gather up her family, and learn to be the best boss she can possibly be. Her family needed to come back after the trial of respect, and she needed to be in full charge by then. Hopefully, she'd have another addition to the family, and they needed to provide the protection needed for the newest Sky Arcobaleno.

-0-0-0-

Harry had coughed up purple columbine flowers.

 _Resolved to win_.

-0-0-0-

"It's an unheard of, your curse," the Healer as St. Mungos murmured, perplexed. He was lifting pages up off the clipboard, sorting through them with a trained eye. His glasses needed to be pushed periodically, and Harry was vividly reminded of his own glasses; after the war, he had his eyesight cured, but he still carried his own round glasses around, unable to part with them.

"Ah," Harry offered, glancing away from the Healer. His wand was being palmed nervously, a bit of self-assurance with being in public. While St. Mungos had made it as private as possible for him, and did better than expected considering the short notice- it was still an unfamiliar place to Harry, who was all too used to the infirmary at Hogwarts.

Alfie, his Healer, shot him a look. "Can you please tell me when you first started to experience this phenomenon?" His eyes trailed to the orange pacifier hung around Harry's neck, and his expression twisted slightly. "After we work through your flower curse, we can start on your, er, what did you call it?"

"The Arcobaleno curse," Harry repeated duly. "Er, more specifically, the Sky Arcobaleno version of the curse."

"Right," Alfie said, uneasily. "Well, both of them feel pretty heavy and rather dark; I'd be more surprised that you're still alive and coherent as you are if you weren't, well, Harry Potter," he told him, and Harry hunched his shoulders. "Er, I didn't mean anything by that, by the way," Alfie said, hurriedly.

"No, no, I'm used to it," Harry replied, still slightly uneasy. "You're right, I'm Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. It's seems to be a habit of mine to survive unsurvivable things," he said with a tight smile, making Alfie shift. "As for your previous questions, it's been a few weeks since the flower thing started. Just a few days had passed since I was given this," he gestured to his pacifier.

"Hm," Alfie made a humming noise, placing his clipboard down on a counter. Surprisingly, St. Mungos was a lot more modern than Harry had originally thought. All clean and smooth surfaces, even some delicate technology that made Hermione twitch and murmur about interrogating the staff about how they go about not _frying_ said technology. Magic and technology did not mix well, something Harry was growing more curious about now that he thought about it. "I'm going to run a few more intricate diagnostic spells on you, is that alright with you?" Alfie approached him, drawing his wand, and Harry stiffened.

Barely reigning in the paranoia and the need to draw his own wand defensively, Harry swallowed dryly and nodded. A few other intern Healers, which were like nurses now that Harry thought about it, had gave him a general check up, and had ran a few diagnostic spells on him already.

"You won't feel a thing," Alfie assured him, before murmuring something. He waved his wand in an intricate pattern, centered mostly around Harry's chest. Despite Alfie's assurance, Harry felt some sort of tingly feeling on his chest.

Soon enough, there was an image materializing a few centimeters away from Harry's chest. It was a golden color, and rather shimmery, and Harry narrowed his eyes to realize that it was like an x-ray of some sort. Alfie had stepped back, satisfied, and had reached for his clipboard to scribble some things down, squinting at the image that he had created from Harry's insides.

Harry could see the faint outlines of his ribs, and the dark image his lungs made. There was darker and denser parts in his lungs, curling inside them. Harry fought the urge to cough, glancing away to eye the rest of the image. He noticed that his lungs and heart were moving, and was vaguely impressed; real-time x-ray images- maybe muggles had some sort of technology like this, and Harry was just easily impressed, he can't say he knew much outside of defense against the dark arts, and his own home. Besides the organs that Harry could make out, he noticed two rooted dots, located just a little bit beneath his heart, near his core.

"What are those?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the dots.

"Huh? Oh," Alfie glanced up, pushing up his glasses. "Well, _one_ of those is your magical core," he leaned in to observe them. "Ah, that's it," he pointed at the darker dot, a little bit bigger than a golf ball. Harry noted mildly that it looked a bit rotten, and just hoped that it was his own vision failing and that the diagnostic spell just made things look like that. Alfie's solemn look didn't assure him all that much, though. "The dot right next to it," was considerably larger, pulsing almost. "That is a bit more spiritual magic, something I'm not too acquainted with," Alfie admitted, with a frown.

"Spiritual magic?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like, Divination and all that?"

Alfie grimaced. "Sort of? It's- I heard it's more like any type of magic anyone can get, muggle or not," he said, slowly. Harry's eyebrows raised. "It's a bit difficult to explain, but I'll try. Have you ever heard of humans doing, er, 'superhero' acts? Like suddenly getting the strength to lift cars off their children, or doing things that defies- ordinary standards? LIke high on adrenaline sort of things."

"I think?" Harry offered, a bit confused. "I mean, I always thought that that was like, you know, magic. But it happens to regular muggles as well? And how does this adrenaline high link to spiritual magic?"

"Hm," Alfie scratched his head, before absently banishing the fading x-ray image with a wave of his wand. He had returned to looking at the clipboard, more in thought than anything. "While it's normally dormant for most of regular humans lives, it only comes out in dire situations. I'm not really surprised that yours seems a bit more active than other wizards I have met, though there are a few exceptions. Those dire situations come only when a human strips away all of their normal thinking, acting on instinct, and on pure determination."

"Dire situations?" Harry mused. "You mean..., like, if people think they're going to die?"

"Yes," Alfie snapped his fingers in realization. "Exactly like that, Mr. Potter." A pause. "Er, I mean Mr. Black," he corrected himself, with a sheepish chuckle. "Anyways, it's just like that. If you take away all safety precautions a human mind usually exerts in everyday situation, your mind and body can do incredible things," he explained, almost mysteriously. "Did you know that if your brain didn't stop you, you'd be able to bite through your own fingers like carrots?"

Harry sweatdropped. "Ouch," he said, a bit bland.

Of course he had activated some sort of spiritual backup magic he had going on next to his magical core. Still, this conversation had ignited some sort of bittersweet nostalgia and dread in the back of his mind. The war was rough, and Harry, himself, had lived through near-death situations, each one a bit more depressing than the last, leaving him feeling a bit more empty. Of course, that was _now_. Back then, it had left him feeling something akin to determination, fiery and burning. He remembers the light, like Dumbledore had told him so wisely all that time ago. He had pulled through by the skin of his teeth, dragging himself from the pits of death by his fingernails, all for- all for-

For what? For him to end up like this?

Selfish, depressed, and extremely social reclusive? One cursed to die, by _two_ different curses? Someone who wasn't willing to help himself, and didn't tell his closest friends about it? Harry's eyebrows furrowed, as he chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek, feeling suddenly unsatisfied and unhappy with himself. Disappointed, even.

No, he didn't pull himself out of death to be like this.

Harry had risen out of death to finish a battle, to save his friends, his family. The world, even. He had pulled himself through to spend a few more moments with his friends, to see their faces, to exist with them. He had pulled through to eat dinner at the Weasley family's house once more. He had wanted so much to experience another sunset, or to walk through the halls of Hogwarts once more, surrounded by his friends, and other students.

He had saved himself so he could _live_.

"You know," Alfie's voice interrupted him, and Harry jerked, wand gripped tight. He forced himself to relax, even as Alfie shot him a tense and nervous smile. "I once heard the myth that the spiritual magic, once awakened, could be harnessed. And the adrenaline high was called, um," Alfie frowned in thought. "Dying will, I think?"

"Dying will," Harry repeated. "How morbid."

"It's a bit cool, if you think about it," Alfie enthused. "Anyways, I don't know much about it, haha, other than theory and the likes. If you were to harness it, it'd take practice, and experience, I think it's pretty difficult. Especially if you'd happen to be magical, which is a considerably easier alternative than the spiritual magic."

"And regular muggles can harness it?" Harry asked. "It seems like something that breaks the Statute of Secrecy."

"I think they can," Alfie said. "But I don't think they know it's magic, haha. And like I said before, it's extremely difficult to do. You'd had to put yourself in situations that required it to be called forth, and that's mostly when you think you're about to die. Most humans tend to avoid that part of life, haha," Alfie grinned.

"I bet," Harry snorted, dryly. "As interesting as this conversation is, can we get back onto track? I'm kind of tired after the events of today," being forcibly dragged here, and telling the truth to his two closest friends were a lot more draining than he had accounted for. "I think I need to cough," he warned, already hunching over to clear his throat roughly, feeling a bit put off that his flower disease was acting up just now. It must have had something to mock him about.

After a few weeks of living with the curse, which felt like eternity, Harry had worked out a pattern with the flowers, and his coughing fits. While, sometimes, he was able to force them out at his own time and place, ripping them out of his lungs and caused more discomfort and pain than normally- the flowers were young, and sometimes unrecognizable. It he had waited until the flowers grew to be too much, he would be able to force out recognizable flowers that either mocked his current situation, or the near future.

"Oh?" Alfie looked a bit unnerved, already pulling out his wand. "I'll run a few more diagnostic spells on you to help monitor this process, and maybe it will lend a hand later on," he told him, seriously. Harry just waved him off, gagging and coughing dryly.

Soon, blood dripped from his mouth, as did stray petals. His chest and throat burned painfully, his chest seemingly felt ripped in two, and his eyes felt suspiciously wet with burning tears of exertion. He panted, as he observed the flowers in his hands.

Fleur-de-lis flowers this time around, delicate petals already soaking up his mucus and blood and spit. Harry felt vaguely disgusted as he racked his brain for the flower meaning, and furrowing his brows in slightly confusion.

 _Flame; I burn_.

Alfie looked on, a perplexed frown on his face. He was quickly writing down his thoughts on the clipboard, before sighing and putting it away. With a quick wave of his wand, the clipboard and quail pen was writing by themselves. He gingerly took the flowers away from Harry's hand, allowing Harry to wipe them on his trousers. Alfie, luckily, had gloves on, and he had taken them to the counter.

"Flower of the lily, huh?" Alfie asked, making Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's a direct translation. I suppose you know it already...?"

" _Fleur-de-lis_ ," Harry supplied. "It's meaning means flame, or I burn."

"Does the flowers usually change?" Alfie questioned. "Does their meaning change when you do something?"

"Generally, yes."

"Huh," Alfie returned to running spells on the flowers. He gave up after a while, turning towards Harry with a sympathetic smile on his face. "Do you need any pain potions? I can prescribe some general cold potions, and charms, but I don't think their reach can extend to the flower growth inside your lungs. At the very least, it might give you some control over your coughing fits. But I'm afraid that might have it's drawbacks as well."

"Such as?"

Alfie grimaced. "You could suffocate if you don't cough up those flowers regularly," he told him. "If worse comes to worse, we can perform surgery to physically remove the growth if there is no other option. In the meantime, I need to develop a special type of potion that could possibly help, er, dissolve those flowers that are growing inside your lungs. It's not a permanent solution, but it should be able to help you control it better."

"Alright," Harry said, unsure. "What about my Arcobaleno curse? And what exactly did you see when you performed those diagnostic spells during my coughing fit?"

"Erm," Alfie ran his hand through his hair in the familiar act of frustration. "Well, about that- your coughing fit told me a few things, actually." He admitted, a small nervous smile on his face. "As of assumed, your curse is indeed magical. But I had thought that it was an anomaly, a foreign type of magic that is causing physical harm to your body. But-" He shot Harry an appraising look, making his stiffen and harden his stare. "It appears that- it seems like your own magic is supplying the flowers," he finally stated, making Harry blink.

Magic was all about intent, when it all came down to it.

So that must mean-

"I'm doing this to myself?" Harry asked, voice soft and slightly hoarse.

A self-inflicted curse, huh? What a new low, even for himself. Alfie nodded, a bit unsure. "It's unheard of, but it could happen," he tried to assure. "The permanent solution I was thinking, other than rather controlling the effects of the curse, is to deal with it at it's source, meaning your magical core." He fiddled with his glasses, before pushing them back onto his face to look at Harry seriously. "That would mean that you would need to go under magical therapy, and perhaps even regular therapy. I can tell you that will help with the start of your recovery, and you'd need to be in touch with both your magic, and yourself, for that."

Therapy, two kinds. "You really think I'm doing this to myself?" Harry asked, not irritated, not angry. A bit bewildered, and- that was a bit surprising. _He was killing himself_.

"Not intentionally," Alfie hedged, slowly. "But subconsciously? Maybe," Alfie was honest, which Harry had to give him props for. "Have you ever heard of factitious disorder? It's more commonly known as Munchausen Syndrome, but it's been renamed recently. It's where a disease is often faked due to psychology trauma, to gain reassurance, and, or, to gather attention-"

"Do you really think that I'm doing this for attention?" Harry seethed, suddenly very irritated. It was a sore subject for him, often being titled as attention seeker in the past. _As if_ , Harry internally seethed. If anything, Harry wanted _no_ attention.

Alfie looked surprised, and tried to backtrack, carefully. "Or," he stressed, a nervous smile on his face. "It's a form of Hypochondriasis disorder. That's a form of health anxiety, or illness anxiety disorder. It usually refers to some people who have anxiety and generally thinks they have a disease that do not have."

Harry was unconvinced, still slightly bitter. "Okay, what does that have to do with me, and my situation?"

"Self-imposed, is what I'm trying to say," Alfie admitted, shortly. "Honestly, this is the first ever scenario I have ever encountered. But most patients want to hear some sort of diagnosis to feel better about themselves, and in more control of their condition. It's a bit scary to not know anything about what's affecting you, isn't it?"

"Better than being labeled as attention seeking," Harry snapped.

"I'm not saying that you're that," Alfie responded, voice firm. "I want to focus more on the 'self-imposed' part, thank you. As someone who is magical, your magic could be reacting to your own self-imposed disease, and help fuel it, somewhat."

"...I'm not doing this for attention," Harry muttered, still and stubborn.

Alfie looked exasperated. "And I believe you," he reminded, making Harry snort and glance away. A bit of guilt seeped in, but Harry was a stubborn prick sometimes. It happens, he admits. He wasn't Mr. Friendly, and he certainly wasn't liking the way Alfie had insinuated another insulting title earlier in the conversation. He was just _Harry_ , damn it.

"If I'm doing this to myself," Harry finally hedged, still a bit sullen. "Will therapy help me work it out and cure myself?"

"It's a start," Alfie admitted. "Magic is all about intent, you know. If your magic is making your flower curse take hold, then perhaps it could help take care of it as well. In order to become in tune with your magic, your mind must be healthy enough to undergo the magical therapy that will happen alongside with regular therapy." Alfie had snatched the clipboard from thin air, and flipped through the pages. "It says in your notes that you never went to counseling therapy after the war?"

Guilty and unhappy, Harry nodded.

Alfie grimaced.

"Shut up," Harry insisted. "I know, I know, bad self-care, I know. Hermione and Ron already tore me a new one earlier, I don't need to hear it from you," he folded his arms, staring stonily at the Healer. Alfie shot him a wan, sympathetic, smile.

"It's quite understandable," Alfie said. "I'm not judging, I promise. Most people who experience a war don't usually go to counseling aftewards, not without being forced that is. In regular army settings, veterans undergo training to settle themselves back into civilization, you know. They learn coping skills, and how to live day to day life like any other normal human. Have you experienced any dysphoria, or feeling out of touch with reality in these past two years?"

"Yes," Harry admitted, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He never went through that, after the war was done, it was just- he was just done. He never learned to 'settle back in', as Alfie had put it. "I didn't think of that," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"It's never too late to learn how to live," Alfie reminded him, making Harry pause.

That- that was oddly assuring.

"Thanks," Harry said, softly. "I'll- I'll do the therapy, I guess." A pause, and Harry glanced at the relieved Healer. "What about my Arcobaleno curse? Any ideas on that?"

Alfie glanced once more at the pacifier, expression crumpling slightly. "That's another type of magic, I think. Not self-inflicted, thank Merlin. The pacifier itself has a heavy and dark aura, and seems to be seeping some type of substance from yourself- not your magic, however." His smile turned rather sympathetic and tight. "I think our earlier conversation actually ties into this," he admitted.

A slow dawning of realization seeped in.

"It's taking my spiritual magic, isn't it?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

"Indeed it is," Alfie sighed.

" _Shit_ ," Harry palmed his face with both of his hands, wand forgotten on his lap. "I'm a fucking mess," he lamented.

"Well, that's why you're here," Alfie tried to enthuse. "You have friends and myself to help you through this. Don't ever forget that you're not alone in this," he smiled, sincerely, at the young wizard.

Harry remembers Hermione's worried tears, and Ron's pale and tense face. And looking at Alfie's helpful expression was rather reassuring. Harry finally allowed a small, if a bit self-deprecating, smile because _damn_ , he didn't deserve such nice people to worry over someone like him, didn't _want_ or need someone to be there for him.

But he had them.

"Yeah, I'm not alone," Harry laughed, a bit grateful and slightly tired. "Thank you."

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read.

If you have any ideas, or whatever, tell me; I might consider it, haha.

ALSO on my profile, I have a desperate plea for Yamamoto Takeshi/Harry Potter stories- if you write me one, I'll write you a story of wHATEVER- PLEASE, I'M DESPERATE.

Believe it or not, Yamamoto Takeshi is my favorite KHR character, haha.

-mms


	3. Chapter 2

**Hemp Flowers Meant Fate**

 _Chapter 2_

 _This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. See an error? Please tell me!_

 **Warnings:** More body disfiguration. Mentions of slight blood and gore. Rushed and delirious writing. More OC mention.

 **A/N:** Trident Shamal makes an appearance in this chapter! Harry will get a taste of the mafia and learn more about Dying Will Flames and the curse before he trippity trappity trips headfirst into the underground, haha. Also, more of Alfie the OC in here, but he won't be a major part of the story other than a way of introducing a major character to another major character.

I'm not one for creating and abusing OCs excessively, lmao. But in this case, I need a somewhat logical and reasonable way to introduce Harry to the underground, lmao.

Enjoy!

* * *

Balsamine.

 _Impatience_.

Alfie and Harry both looked over them, Alfie quickly turning away in a very suspicious manner. Harry was unperturbed, and stared at him, suspiciously. He knew enough about people, and how they reacted around him to know that he was probably trying to hide a grin of some sorts. Harry twitched, and grabbed some tissue from the side of his bed, wrapping up the bloodstained flowers and tossing them at Alfie, who yelped and caught them with a grimace.

"Oops," Harry said, simply.

"Okay, I deserve that," Alfie muttered, pocketing the now blood-stained tissue with a slight grimace. Harry felt a bit sickened at the thought of him keeping anything he projected from his body, and glanced away. "But it seems like your flowers are telling you something."

"Wow, really?" Harry enthused. "What made you think of that?" His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Are you normally this sarcastic?" Alfie shot back, exasperated. "It's hard to believe that the media portrays you in such a different light, honestly."

Harry just shot him a warning glare, his smile barring a bit more teeth than normally. "The media just want to show the people what they want to see, and if they want to paint me in a Mr. Friendly and nice way, then they will." He pulled back, leaning back in his bed as he stared morosely up at the ceiling. "It's not like I have any say in the matter," he muttered.

Alfie was silent, staring at him, before he returned to scribbling down notes in the clipboard he was always seen carrying around.

It had been a few weeks since his impromptu visit to the healers, and Harry wasn't- well, feeling it. He still felt rather guilty and down for not telling his friends sooner, and they walked on thin ice when around him, treating him with the utmost delicacy that was starting to piss Harry off. He still coughed up flowers, and the pacifier had lost its glow, settling into the tacky orange that Harry was slowly coming to terms with. It was a horrid color, no doubt, but it held it's charm; well, it was starting to, anyways. Harry was growing rather restless as the therapy he was now subjected to progressed, and after a few weeks, he was a bit disappointed that his current illnesses weren't improving at all.

His flowers mocked his impatience, it seemed.

 _Even his own magic hated him_.

"Hey," Harry suddenly asked, sitting back up. A thought occurred to him, something he and his friends briefly debated about after they all met with the young healer. "How old are you, by the way? Just curious."

Alfie's expression dropped, and he grimaced. He quickly cleared his throat, and returned to his clipboard, a wry smile on his face. "It's rude to ask someone their age, you know," he commented, lightly.

Harry blinked, glancing away sheepishly. While he wasn't the nicest around, he did pride himself on being polite when called for. After the war, and his social reclusiveness, it seemed his manners had taken a nose dive, and he was really living up to Snape's interpretation of him. A snarky little brat. Finding nothing to say, he only shrugged mildly at the look Alfie spared him.

"Sorry?" Harry offered.

Alfie sighed. "I'm older than what most people think, actually," he admitted. "But I rather not talk about it, it's a pretty sore subject for me," Alfie said, making Harry nod along. He, himself, knew about sore subjects and the like.

"I'm just going to take that as you being probably ancient, then," Harry remarked, an attempt to lighten the air. "Any luck on the spiritual magic part of my treatment?" That was also something eluding him, and he had scoured the Black library on anything relating to it. The results were disappointingly lackluster, and left Harry feeling more restless and frustrated at his body.

While he knew recovery would take awhile, it didn't stop the itch that grew into discontent with his body and the curses he had taken upon himself. Especially with his flower curse, something that was self-inflicted. He thought that if he now knew about the cause, he could just will his magic to just- stop. Stop fuelling the flowers that mocked him, and was slowly killing him. And then maybe his magic would work to stop the Sky Arcobaleno curse he had accepted. It didn't take an idiot to know how stupid Harry was when he accepted the second curse, and to accept it so casually at that. At the time, it felt- well, not needed, not anything, just another blow to Harry's already depressing lifestyle.

 _You didn't ask any questions, at all?_ Hermione had asked, critically.

 _Er_ , was all Harry replied with.

Hermione's disappointed and rather exaggerated groan would haunt Harry for the next few weeks. Even Ron looked disappointed, making the sore spot for Harry wound deeper, and he slumped in his bed, resisting the urge to pull the covers up over his head and sleeping off the dread and guilt. He was good at sleeping.

"Sadly, no," Alfie looked mildly unhappy at the fact. "Your friends, Hermione and Ron, are currently in Russia looking into the international magical library located in Moscow, aren't they?" Harry nodded, crossing his arms. "I'm sure they'll find something there," Alfie tried to enthuse.

"What about you? I thought you knew about- the spiritual magic," Harry waved a flippant hand towards him. "You heard about it from an old colleague, haven't you? Can't you just, like, call them up, or something?"

"Surprisingly, it isn't that easy," Alfie snorted, dryly. "He is also a muggle, and he is surprisingly hard to track using magical means, you know. It's usually him who calls me up to hang out." Harry felt something suspicious tingle down his spine, and he shifted, frowning at the feeling.

He was about to reply before something caught in his throat, tickling his lungs painfully. His stomach lurched, and he bent over, gagging dryly. Alfie made a startled noise, dropping whatever he was doing to come closer, wand at ready. Harry had to fight off the itchy paranoia and allow him, despite still being wary at allowing people to come at him with their wands ready.

After his coughing fit, he held zennae flowers.

 _Absent friends_.

Both of them shared a look, Alfie's eyebrows raised. Harry pinned him with a spiteful and dry glare, feeling oddly vindictive at his flowers. "I blame you," Harry told him, making Alfie raise his hands defensively.

"I did nothing," Alfie said. He readied his wand, "Do you want some charms to take away the pain, or?"

Harry nodded. "Actually, I was just thinking about how the pain fills me with adrenaline and joy, and how I come to appreciate it; _yes_ , I want the pain charms, please," Harry insisted, making Alfie nod, slightly exasperated. Another bad thing to come from his self-inflicted curse was the fact that his magic use was now limited, due to the fact that his magical core was going through some stuff.

To just put it mildly, Harry's magical and spiritual magic were just ' _going through some stuff_ '.

Alfie was afraid that if he used his magic without restraint, that would speed up the process of his flowers growing and that would be hard on his lungs. Harry had thought that if he used more magic, then the less magic would be in his core, and that would leave less fuel for the flowers; apparently, he was wrong. It wasn't an unknown feeling for Harry, to be honest; Hermione was the brainy one out of them, in Hogwarts. That's not to say that Harry wasn't smart in his own way, because he was, it was just-

Well, magical theory never interested him. Defense against the dark arts always interested him, and Harry liked to think that he liked teaching. Teaching Dumbledore's Army had left him feeling oddly pacified at that time in life, despite Umbridge and the looming threat of Voldemort that the public and Ministry were avoiding like the plague.

Maybe after all this is said and done, Harry would be a teacher of some sort. He has seen and experienced some shit in his life.

Alfie had finished casting some healer's charms on him, and was currently pocketing the wrapped up zennae flowers. While he didn't know a lick about plant biology, he said it was important to keep samples for future reference. Harry had been cleared for today, and he was allowed to slump back lazily in his bed, watching Alfie through hooded eyes. He had brought his pain potions, and an another attempt at controlling his flowers potion. It was attempt number 15, and Harry wasn't having high hopes for it.

Therapy happened twice a week, while he was treated to by the young looking healer every day. Luckily, Harry hadn't needed to go back to St. Mungos after the first visit; he was allowed to file for a familial healer to come check up on him after filling out forms, and getting it signed by the director at St. Mungos. Alfie had been quickly assigned to his case, and he has been visiting every day since.

Harry had a feeling that he got on Alfie's nerves a lot, which was amusing to see.

"I'll be taking my leave for today," Alfie declared, gathering his stuff up. "You know how to reach me, so please don't hesitate to do so if the need arises. As your Healer, I'd like to see you taking care of yourself and asking for help when you need it," he said, smiling wanly. Harry narrowed his eyes. Harry was about to reply before a catchy pop tune interrupted, and he blinked.

 _Was that Backstreet Boys?_

Harry- Harry felt more disappointed that he knew the band rather than the fact that his healer apparently listened to Backstreet Boys.

Alfie had the decency to laugh, sheepishly. He glanced down at his cellphone, which he fished out of one of his pockets, frowning. "Just a second please," Alfie said, answering. "Hello?" Harry had deduced a long time ago that his healer was a muggleborn, as he often forgot to do simple acts of magic and for the fact that he had, well, a _cellphone_.

Harry decided to do him a favor, and picked up his wand from his nightstand. With a simple wave, he cast a privacy ward around the healer.

Alfie shot him a warning and panicked look, making Harry stick out his tongue slightly. _Bleh_ , he hoped he conveyed that word enough. A simple privacy ward wouldn't kill him, Harry decided.

It was only afterwards, after a lot of cryptic looks from Alfie, that he dispelled the privacy ward. Alfie turned on him. "That was dangerous, Harry," he said, sternly. "You shouldn't be doing magic when it's uncalled for," Harry felt slightly affronted.

"A simple spell isn't going to kill me," Harry muttered.

"Famous last words," Alfie sighed. He pocketed his cell phone. "Your theory about your flowers might be somewhat true, Harry," he conceded, making Harry glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "Or that saying, speak of the devil, and he will appear, is," Alfie shot him a wry grin.

"Make sense," Harry said, tired.

"That was my friend, my _absent_ friend as of late," Alfie didn't lose that knowing look on his face, his lips upturned dryly. "He wanted to hang out, which is fortunate, wouldn't you say?"

His words sunk in, and Harry wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his flowers. Predicting the future, or mocking his current situation- if the flowers weren't slowly killing him, they'd be great to have. As it was, it only served to remind him of the deep burning in his chest, and every time he rasped a breath, his breathing often shallow and rapid nowadays. The heaviness lingering, making his limbs feel heavy and numb.

"Too bad it can't predict lottery numbers," was all Harry could say, making Alfie laugh, slightly. The underlying sentence weighed heavy in the room, though:

 _Too bad it's killing me_.

-0-0-0-

Trident Shamal was in London, England.

He was visiting a friend, who he had managed to track down after a few weeks of searching. Surprisingly, it was very hard and left Shamal slightly puzzled but oh well. He needed to get away from the mafia craziness and wariness, especially more so with the latest gossip of a wayward Sky Arcobaleno and controversy. Luckily, his friend was rather eager to meet him as well, making Shamal raise an eyebrow.

Dr. Alfie was an old colleague of his, and they had interned together at one of England's general hospitals. While Alfie was just working to get the experience, Shamal had been working on his multiple degrees going towards his interest. This included a degree in nursing and entomology, even going for a full doctorate in infectious diseases. Alfie was flabbergasted and often asked him how he lived with no sleep, making Shamal respond with his usual responses: women, and coffee.

Needless to say, Shamal's reputation as a womanizer had soon proceeded his impressive prowess as a doctor. It took the edge off the attention, which made the then 22 year old preen and crow inwardly at his cleverness. His colleague was also the same age as him, making both of them 28. It had been a long time since he saw Alfie, who looked tired and young as ever.

"You don't age, do you?" Shamal greeted, making Alfie blink and turn towards him. He was rather bland, with no distinct features. If it wasn't for his pale hair, and pale eyes, he'd have been a complete nobody.

"I wish I could say the same to you," Alfie replied, dryly. It was a sore subject for him, his appearance.

"Ouch," Shamal said, mock-offended. He placed a hand over his wounded heart, blinking at Alfie. "Is that really all you can say to an old friend?"

"Old is right," Alfie muttered, as he opened the door for both of them. Both of them had agreed to meet at an old bar near their shared and old workplace, a popular place for interns and doctors who wanted to take the edge off from the stress. Luckily for both of them, no one seemed to recognize them as they made their way towards a secluded part at the bar counter. "Have you considered retirement?"

"Quit with the old jokes," Shamal groaned. "I get it, I get it, you're not a baby-faced kid, you're a hardcore veteran with grey hairs. Happy now?"

"Hardly," if anything, Alfie looked even more affronted.

Shamal just shot him a dry grin, happy for once that his mind isn't on the mafia and the craziness it sometimes dealt him. Alfie shot him a quick smile back, distant and made Shamal's hackles rise slightly.

As both of them ordered their respective drinks, Shamal took the time to observe his friend. In the dimly lit bar, Alfie looked tired and stressed as always. He was always stressing and nervous about many things, especially his homelife. While he could always keep it around his patients, and superiors, in private- well, Alfie looked like he hated life and circumstance, something Shamal could relate to. Unlike many prodigies, who had their own ticks, Alfie had none.

Unlike Shamal, who liked women, and his mosquitoes. Coffee was also partially his bloodstream, but he had chalked that up to being pure Italian.

"So, what's up, doc?" Shamal asked, finally receiving his tumbler full of aged scotch. Alfie had ordered some type of no-name whiskey, and he was staring absently into his glass.

"A lot, actually," Alfie responded, taking a swig of his drink. He grimaced. "I've been meaning to talk to you, actually," he pinned his knowing gaze on Shamal.

"About what? Finally found a lucky woman to settle down with?" Shamal wiggled his eyebrows. "Charmed someone with those killer glasses you wear," he mocked, making annoyance tick on Alfie's face.

"Shut it," Alfie muttered. He sighed. "No, I was hoping to cash in a favor you owe me."

Great, Shamal concluded. "Oh, joy," Shamal rolled his eyes, sighing. Welp, there goes any chance of a fun and laid-back evening. "Just when I was hoping you finally decided to not die a virgin."

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you hope about anything concerning my genitalia," Alfie responded, weakly, making Shamal choke on his own drink. "And move onto more pressing matters."

"Well?" Shamal drawled, after a moment of contemplative silence. Shamal was starting to get nervous, and played it off as Alfie's general nervousness rubbing off on him.

"I have a patient," Alfie mused, quietly. Shamal paused, a feeling of dread sinking low in his stomach. Something tingled the back of his spine, and he refused to squirm underneath the apprehension that now laced the air, leaving it tense and rather heavy. To keep his nerves away from the surface, Shamal tipped back his glass tumbler, relishing the dry burn as it crawled down his throat.

"Oho?" Shamal finally gave, raising an eyebrow. He kept his voice bland and unforgiving.

Alfie spared him a helpless glance. "I think we both know that we keep secrets from each other, Shamal," he finally said. "You know information about your dying will, and I know things about... stuff." He grimaced, making Shamal snort.

"Very specific," Shamal commented.

"Shut up," Alfie snipped back, rubbing a hand over his face. His glasses became askew, and he hurriedly fixed them, pressing them more firmly onto the bridge of his nose. "But this is serious," he conceded. A moment's pause, " _I'm_ serious."

"Aren't we all?" Shamal retorted, feeling very out of depth. All he wanted was to enjoy a few drinks with his old friend, who was unrelated with the mafia. To get away from the deep and tense mafia underground, which was left scrambling to figure out where, and who, the next Sky Arcobaleno was. There was still rumors going around that Aria of the Giglio Nero Family was still the second in line, but Shamal knew this to not be true.

A little visit from Reborn had set the record straight for him, so to say.

Alfie was heading into murky territory, and Shamal was growing increasingly uncomfortable with it.

"Listen to me," Alfie demanded. "I'm going against _so many_ laws just to mention this to you. So you got to help me with this," he accompanied this with a swift swig of whiskey. He shuddered and pinned a serious gaze onto Shamal, eyes rather bloodshot and tired.

"What about me?" Shamal insisted. "Don't you think that I have my very own set of laws that I have to adhere to?"

"What about the hippocratic oath?" Alfie snapped back, tired. "There has to be a point in our careers where we have to choose between that, and our own secrets," he muttered, eyes distant. They refocused on him, and he eyed him, suddenly rather bland. "You _do_ remember the hippocratic oath, don't you?"

His question made Shamal harden, and he set his jaw.

Of _course_ he remembered it. He remembered every time he assassinated someone due to his work. To be completely honest, in the beginning, he didn't care much for the oath. He was a hitman, born and raised, and taking the oath was rather silly at the beginning of his training. The oath only grew heavier and heavier, each year he grew older, and the onset feelings of regret and tiredness was starting to settle into his bones. Stand-alone hitmen weren't expected to live past 30, especially if they were not affiliated with any powerful Family. So, as Shamal grew older, the more he expected to die; it made him paranoid, and slightly terrified to think about it. People like Shamal weren't going to the pearly white gates _,_ after all; maybe he'd even be transported to another level of hell because he was a doctor, and his profession didn't really yell about his pure intentions with his knowledge.

The bartender made rounds, and Shamal tapped the bar to signal a refill. The bartender grunted, and did as asked, even refilling Alfie's tumbler as well.

"I do," Shamal finally said, after downing his drink. The dry burn was pleasant, leaving his limbs and insides tingly. His head was getting foggy, thankfully. Alfie sipped at his drink with a straight face, reminding Shamal of his rather heady tolerance to the stuff.

"Then you have to help me," Alfie said. "Just this one time, just with this one patient. I'm sure you know about his condition, on some type of level, to help him," Alfie set his glass down with a slight thud, turning in his seat to face Shamal fully. "You're the one who told me the myth about the dying wills, anyways."

"That's a pretty big leap of logic you're making here," Shamal bit back. "What if I just like folk tales?"

"You?" Alfie huffed, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose. "Please, Shamal," he insisted.

"Bah," Shamal almost wanted to throw up his hands in frustration. He settled for throwing Alfie a haughty look instead. "I don't know what you want me to say, Alfie. I'm at crossroads here, and you're certainly not helping me decide with how ambiguous you're being."

"I can only say once I know that you know something," Alfie grimaced.

"Same here," Shamal said, dryly. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. His skin felt clammy, and his bones felt tired, despite the light airy tingle in his limbs. "Fine, I know about dying will," he conceded, at last. It was vague, at best, but answered Alfie's unspoken question here.

Somehow, it felt like he was throwing his life away with this confession.

Alfie looked relieved, still slightly on guard, but relieved. "You do?"

"Yes, fucking yes," Shamal hissed, slightly hating his connection with his old friend and colleague. "Now tell me about your mysterious patient and how come you think I can help with _his_ situation." _His_ , left a better taste on his tongue.

It would have been better, made this whole situation better, if the patient in question was a beautiful girl. It would have made risking his life, and career, on the line much more worth it.

"Recently," Alfie ignored his spiteful emphasis on the _his_ part, fiddling with his glasses. "My patient has been afflicted with two diseases. One of them, I can treat fairly well; at the very least, help monitor him on his road to recovery. The other, well," he spared Shamal a slightly nervous glance. "Have you heard about, er," he fumbled, grimacing.

"Spit it out," Shamal demanded. "You're risking both of our necks here, and our careers. You already convinced me to join you on this suicide vendetta you have for your patient, so might as well come clean, you prick," he seethed, making Alfie laugh, bemused.

"I suppose you're right," Alfie sighed. "Fine, have you ever heard about something called the Arcobaleno curse? More specifically, the Sky version of it?"

Shamal was playing his tumbler glass when he said this, and he watched with some sort of bewilderment as it fell from numb fingers. Everything inside him turned to static, a brief feeling of _oh_ , and then Shamal wanted to curse whatever gods that were listening. He had a sinking feeling of _what if_ from the moment Alfie started the conversation, but now that the _what if_ was actually fucking true, Shamal had no idea how to go about it. His first instinct was to laugh himself silly, and his second, rather more primal, instinct was to run to the nearest phone booth and phone Reborn. That seemed like the most logical thing to do, right?

But- Shamal risked a glance at Alfie's hopeful and wary face.

For once in his life, Shamal chose the hippocratic oath over his own skin.

"Yeah, I do," Shamal tried to flag down the bartender, ready for the check. "I need to see your patient, and _pronto_ ," he said to Alfie, who blinked.

"Is it that bad?" Alfie said with a wan smile.

"The worst," Shamal answered. He paused as both of them stood, Alfie shrugging his wool jacket back over his pressed suit. "Just for reference, does your patient seem- famous? Or popular, at least?"

Alfie snorted, something wry creeping onto his features. It lined his smile.

"You bet," Alfie laughed.

"Great," Shamal muttered. "Just great."

Time to meet the wayward Sky that has been causing quite the stir in the underground, Shamal decided. Then after all that was said and done- then he'd have to call Reborn, and tell the Arcobaleno that _he_ found their newest Sky.

What a headache.

-0-0-0-

Harry had coughed mezereon flowers.

He stared at them cryptically, frowning.

 _Desire to please; a flirt._

-0-0-0-

"Did you find anything?" Harry demanded, the moment the connection was stable between him, Hermione, and Ron. Ron groaned from their side of the mirror, and Harry squinted at it, realizing that he was face down on the floor of their hotel room. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ignore him, he's just moping," Hermione told him, seriously. Harry raised his eyebrows. Hermione elaborated, "He's not used to doing all of this research."

"I left Hogwarts _years_ ago," came Ron's muffled reply. " _Years_ and _years_."

"Two years, actually," Hermione sniffed, with another roll of her eyes. She sighed, and sent a wan smile towards Harry. "But to answer your question, yes, we did happen to find some information relating your spiritual magic. It's really vague, but it's better than nothing."

"My healer said that he was meeting up with his old colleague, and was going to ask for his help with this," Harry supplied, making Hermione hum. Ron let out another groan, picking himself up unsteadily from the the floor to shoot a scandalized glare at Harry.

"Don't dare tell me that you might be getting answers from another source before us," Ron warned, with a slight narrowing of his eyes. "Don't tell me that my suffering for this is in vain." Harry blinked, while Hermione shot Ron a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Don't be such a baby, Ronald," Hermione said. "Let's think of the big picture of Harry recovering rather than who exactly helped the most, got it?" Ron grumbled but nodded, flopping down onto the bed. "Anyways," Hermione slid her attention back towards Harry. "We did find out some vague information concerning spiritual magic, but it is rather- really vague," Hermione finished.

"Vague or not, I wanna hear it," Harry shrugged, mild. "Any information is helpful than none."

"Wise words," Hermione nodded. "Alright, here's what we got." She sat down next to Ron on the bed, pulling out a some parchment papers. It seemed that she already took down notes, Harry could see her uniform and pragmatic handwriting scrawled across the page. "Apparently there are 7 types of known spiritual magic that each person possesses. They are surprisingly color-coded, which makes things easier. The Sky curse, as you say, is...orange?" Hermione's sharp brown eyes flicked up towards the mirror, and Harry held up the pacifier.

"It looks pretty orange to me," Harry said, practically. "Unless I'm adding sudden color blindness to my list of fucked," he shrugged, making Hermione stare reproachfully at him, mouth pressed into a thin line. She conceded though with an uneasy expression, glancing back down at her notes.

"Orange is one of the more rarer types of spiritual magic," Hermione worded carefully. Harry sighed, of course it was. "The person who possess the orange type of spiritual magic are more accepting of others naturally."

"In my opinion, the most boring type of spiritual magic," Ron added, with distaste. Hermione glanced at him, frowning at being interrupted. "What? All the other types of spiritual magic have cool powers, like disintegrating things with your _mind_. Or, like, creating illusions. With your _mind_ ," Ron defended himself.

"We have magic," Hermione sniffed. "We don't need spiritual magic," she added, turning back to her notes. "Your spiritual magic is often linked to your personality, but that is not always the case. It's more like- genetic disposition? Spiritual magic doesn't shape you, or anything like that, it's more like it's what you're genetically disposed to do, but ultimately, your life experiences are a more of an influence to you than your spiritual magic."

"...You lost me," Harry commented, bland. "What does this have anything to do with my curse?"

Hermione looked momentarily insulted, sending him a critical look. "You said that any information is better than none, Harry," she scolded. "And while I don't have much about your curse, you said you wanted to know more about spiritual magic anyways." Harry grimaced, and sighed, relenting with an averted glance upwards. It was true, it was his impatience eating away at him.

"So I'm all accepting and all that jazz, so what?" Harry finally said. Too accepting, actually. He needed to work on that. "Thanks, though, I mean it. I'm sorry for being impatient, I just- I just want to get better already," he admitted, quietly, making Hermione's eyes soften. Ron shot him a slight glance, removing the arm that he had previously thrown onto his face.

"We all do, Harry," Hermione said, pityingly. "But Rome wasn't built in a day."

"Don't worry about it, mate," Ron added. "You might be an asshole, but aren't we all? Even 'Mione here is guilty of it," Hermione's expression spasmed, and without looking, she lightly punched Ron's hip. Ron squirmed away with a yelp, proceeding to fall of the bed. Hermione smiled, satisfied.

Harry felt some tension leave his body. "We should start a club," he finally said. "Anyways," Harry decided to drop the heavy subjects. "I finally got some dirt on my healer." Hermione groaned, and Ron's head popped up from over the side, grinning maniacally.

"Did ya'?" Ron asked, looking gleeful. "What is it? Is it true that he might be a vampire?"

"Worse," Harry said, sagely, making Ron gasp. Hermione chuckled, putting up her research to listen more attentively.

"You two are like gossipy old ladies," Hermione rolled her eyes. "But I highly doubt he's a vampire."

"Have you seen his eyes and hair? Pale!" Ron scoffed back. "And have you ever seen him enter some place without being invited it? Or has he ever been in the same room with a mirror? I think not," he said, graciously.

"It's called being polite, for one," Hermione countered. "And the mirror thing is just a coincidence," she finished, looking at Harry. Harry laughed, slightly; it hurt his chest, despite the pain potions, and he shifted to a more comfortable position in bed. "But what is worse than being a vampire? Not that being a vampire is bad, or anything," she quickly added, shooting a reprimanding glance at Ron.

Ron held up his hands, frowning. "Woah, woah, hey there, I never said that it was _bad_ or anything. I'm all for the species equality rights act," Ron stuck his tongue out at Hermione. "Don't put words in my mouth," he huffed.

"Guys, guys," Harry interjected before the couple could continue on the path of bickering old ladies. "This is worse. He listens to the _Backstreet Boys_." Hermione took a sharp inhale of breath, while Ron blinked.

"Merlin, I love that band," Hermione gushed, sweet, grinning. Ron glanced between Harry and Hermione, blinking confusedly. Harry made a face. "What? Don't like their music?" Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"I don't like what they represent," Harry worded carefully.

"What do they repres-"

"Backstreet Boys? What's that?" Ron asked, still confused. "Is it some type book?"

Luckily, before Harry could delve into the conversation of pop culture and why he doesn't like boybands- Kreacher popped in, wiping at his wet eyes. "Master," he croaked, making Harry grimace and give him his attention. "Your filthy healer is here with a guest," Kreacher's expression soured. "A _muggle_ guest."

Harry paused, slightly.

"Guys, I gotta go. Thanks for the info, 'Mione, Ron. But my healer's here, I gotta take this," Harry said, slowly. Hermione and Ron quieted and glanced at him, Hermione's expression falling slightly. Ron nodded. "Thanks, talk to you two lovebirds later." Harry sent them a tired and wan smile, closing the connection between them and putting his mirror aside.

He knew that his healer was going to get more details about spiritual magic from his colleague, but he didn't expect him to bring said colleague _here_. Harry felt slightly apprehensive about this, considering the fact that he had charmed and warded this place to hell and back after the war. Not to mention that some of the Black's dark magic still lingered around the property, and could potentially be harmful to a full-on muggle. While the Order of the Phoenix did the best they could disabling most of the wards and hexes around Grimmauld Place, some still lingered deep and were hard to detect without having a full muggle here for it to trigger.

"Kreacher, apparate me to the front entrance. I want you to enable this place's protection charms and notice-me-not charms on the more obvious magic items. I also want you to have some snacks and tea made and sent to the common place near the east wing, near my bedroom." Harry ordered, slipping out of bed and sliding on his robe. It should help him look less pathetic in his worn clothes, and put on his slippers.

His wand was put into the holster that was strapped to his forearm, and his glasses was shoved into his pocket. The pacifier was laying rather heavily on his chest, almost thrumming in tandem with his heart.

"Master," Kreacher wailed. "You can't be serious about letting a muggle inside-"

"I'm being totally serious. A 100%," Harry's voice left no room for protest. Kreacher's weeping intensified, and he grumbled as he did as asked, making Harry stumble and almost dry heave at the nausea at apperating. "Thank you, Kreacher," Harry told the grumpy house-elf before he popped away. He slumped against the cool entrance of Grimmauld Place, panting slightly and trying to regain his bearings. His chest ached tightly, and the nausea subsided slightly. His muscles and joints felt stiff, and his head starting to feel a bit light, almost woozy; Harry gritted his teeth and pulled himself together. He refused to look and act so weak.

With a feeling of steely determination, he threw open the entrance roughly. Alfie looked like he was about to knock again, and he blinked. "Oh, hullo," Alfie greeted with a pained smile. He raked his eyes up and down Harry's body, and he frowned. "What are you doing up?"

Harry shot him a scandalized glare. _I'm here in person because you brought a muggle here!_ "Doing my daily fitness routine," he said, dry. "I was about to go out for a jog." The stranger behind Alfie snorted, and Harry's eyes snapped to him, making him realize that Alfie's colleague was staring intently at him.

Or more specifically, his pacifier.

"Hey, buddy, my eyes are up here," Harry indicated to his face, making Aflie chuckle. The stranger cringed, sending him a slight glare. He grinned, and stepped more into his house. "Come on in, I need to sit down," he finished, faintly, stumbling down towards the common room of his choosing. He heard Alfie and stranger come in, Alfie immediately shutting the door behind them and hurrying after him.

"I'm sorry," Aflie told him, making Harry throw an arm around him. "But he knows about your curse," he continued, quietly.

"Which one?" Harry snorted. The stranger had long strides behind them, and they arrived at the chosen common room, Harry allowing Alfie to dump him in his comfy armchair. The stranger stood off to the side, near the exit and his back to the wall, eyes scanning the room critically. "My name is Harry Black, by the way," he said to the stranger.

"Dr. Shamal," the stranger introduced, stepping forward. Alfie was digging through his things, pulling out his vials of potion and such. He even pulled out a few muggle items that Harry remembers seeing in textbooks and cheesey tv dramas.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, awkwardly. While he was grateful that he was sitting down, he still felt exhausted and wrung out. His chest itched, and he fought that urge down. While he could possibly pass it off as a regular coughing fit, his type were rarely clean and they were quite- ugly, to witness.

"I brought him here in dire circumstances, Harry," his healer said, carefully. "He knows about your Sky curse. And he knows that we're- _I'm_ hiding secrets. We had decided to put aside our differences for this one case, and so everything is coming clean," Alfie handed him some vials, making Harry raised an eyebrow.

Come clean, huh?

Sounds awfully close to, _hey, I'm breaking the statue of secrecy to bring him here and have his help working on_ _ **your**_ _case, lol. Good luck with this knowledge_.

"Great," Harry said, dryly. "What does he know, and what do we know about him? Can he help me with the Sky curse, or what?" He directed this question at Dr. Shamal, who was staring intently at the pacifier again, almost nervously. "Is it curable?"

Dr. Shamal's face twitched, before it smoothed over. Harry didn't have high hopes for whatever expression that was, and his face fell.

"Oh," was all he said.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Shamal, said. "But I know a lot about your curse. Well, not a lot, but I know a lot about Dying WIll and the illnesses related to it." Dying will, right; not spiritual magic. Harry shot Alfie a glance, which resulted in Alfie smiling wanly at him. "But first things first, what are you hiding?"

Alfie looked reluctant, "It's hard to explain-"

"Magic," Harry said, bluntly. "Magic is real, and there are secret societies all over the world hiding themselves from non-magicals such as yourself." Alfie rolled his head to the side to stare at Harry, partly exasperated and partly scandalized. Harry shrugged. "What? You said come clean, and I'm coming clean."

"But the statute of secrecy- you can't break it like that," Alfie muttered. He took off his glasses to rub tiredly at his face. Harry shrugged again, glancing at Shamal's bewildered expression, and smirked, slightly.

"I can do what I want," Harry said. "I don't care about the ministry, and I don't care for authority," he huffed, making Alfie roll his eyes. "I did more than enough to earn my keep, oh ancient one."

"Wait, he gets to make fun of your age, and I can't?" Shamal finally said, composed. Harry had to give him props for that. Alfie gave him a bland and tired stare. Shamal's eyes were on Harry, though. "Magic, huh? Like witches and the like?"

"OoohH~ Spooky stuff like that," Harry said, mysteriously. "I'm pretty sure I have a skeleton somewhere in one of my closets, next to my pointy witch's hat and broom," he was kidding about the two latter parts; not so sure about the skeleton part. He never really finished cleaning and renovating most of Grimmauld Place, so- he honestly didn't know.

"Alright, we came clean about my part of this deal," Alfie pointedly ignored Harry's blatant sarcasm. "What about you? What are you hiding, Shamal?" Shamal shrugged, mild and a bit unsure.

"Oh, nothing- just the mafia," Shamal said, quickly. He looked like he agreed to have his favorite pet cremated while alive and to have it's ashes spread into his tea. Harry, at this point in time, wasn't surprised by what the world managed to throw at him.

Magic, curses, mafia, oh my.

Alfie looked pale, but his composure hardly wavered. "But can you help with my patient's curse?" Shamal's expression twitched, but he nodded, faintly, at last. This seemed to assure Alfie and he sighed, looking a lot more relaxed than he had ever been in the time that Harry knew him.

Harry wasn't convinced by Shamal's hesitant nod, and was once again resigned to dying young. The realization and acceptance washed over him, covering him like a thick blanket, and he slumped more into his seat, staring dully at Shamal with a twisted expression. If the Sky curse was going to kill him, anyways, then what's the point of trying to get rid of the flower one?

 _Damn it, Harry_ , Harry scolded himself, disappointed. Whether at himself for believing that there was a reason for getting better, or for the fact that he felt the familiar apathy crawling back into his system, settling into his bones like a long lost friend.

 _Hello darkness, my old friend_.

-0-0-0-

Shamal couldn't help but stare at the newest Sky Arcobaleno, albeit a tiny bit nervously. While he wasn't what he would have expected from a powerful Sky, but all great Skies had their quirks to them. It seemed that this one was painfully defeated over something, resigned and accepting of literally almost anything in his life, no real powerful emotion lingered in his expression, lining his posture.

But he certainly was compelling, the heavy weight of a Sky's charisma carried over in his sense of humor, and dry, witty, remarks. It weighed heavily over the Sky Pacifier, and Shamal couldn't help but stare at it, at him, with a bit of awe and a lot of- guilt.

There was no cure to the Sky Arcobaleno Curse.

But the secret that Alfie was keeping from him- magic. Shamal shifted, sending a glance at his old colleague. He was fiddling with his bag, reaching into it and pulling out vials and squinting at them, before replacing them. He kept on glancing at his patient worriedly.

There was no known cure for the curse in the underground world. But maybe there was something there in the magical one. Looking back at the Sky, and his all-too-accepting posture made something curl in Shamal, something pitying and disgustingly soft because _damn_ , this kid looked young. Not as young as Aria, but still young.

Shamal was not looking forward to explaining more about Harry's curse, nor was he looking forward to telling Reborn about finding their newest dying Sky. And the task of finding a cure seemed daunting and nearly impossible to Shamal- Alfie did call in one of his favors, and seeing the kid's defeated posture made something twitch inside Shamal, a brief desire of his own flame reacting to the sad sight of a dying Sky.

Something occurred to Shamal.

"Wait, you said he was sick with something else? What is it?" Shamal asked, suspiciously. The Arcobaleno Curse was bad enough, but hopefully this case of a- witch? They called themselves witches, right? Hopefully it was a nice, non-magical, sickness that could be cared for with a few weeks rest and the proper antibiotic.

And if worse comes to worse, one of Shamal's mosquitoes.

Sadly, the glance shared between his old colleague and Harry didn't assure him all that much. In fact, it left Shamal with a sick sense of dread seeping into his stomach, making it drop drastically.

 _Oh, geeze_.

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do to stories that you read.

Insert that gif where that old woman is saying, "Honey, you've got a big storm comin'," here.

Do you peeps have any opinions on how Harry could interact with the rest of the Arcobaleno?

Or if he should have any specific guardians you would want Harry to have?

-mms


	4. Chapter 3

**Hemp Flowers Meant Fate**

 _Chapter 3_

 _This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. If you see an error, please tell me!_

 **Warnings:** General. Still slight body disfiguration. Rushed writing.

 **A/N:** I was going to go into depth about Harry's therapy in this chapter, which include cognitive behavioral therapy. It's a therapy that works well for both PTSD and depression. But that's another thing to tackle in another chapter. This chapter includes with a glimpse at all the Arcobaleno.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and their opinions about the Arcobaleno! There were a lot of mixed views, especially concerning Reborn, lmao. Some say that Harry shouldn't deal with his shit, while others were over the moon with possibilities at the two meeting.

This is also a bit short, but hey, an update is an update!

Enjoy!

* * *

Pigeon Berries.

 _Indifference._

Harry threw them out without showing anyone else.

-0-0-0-

Shamal stared.

"What is this?" He finally demanded, with a tired sigh. Harry's little smirk widened a bit, and he pushed the banana more towards the mafia doctor. "Are you trying to tell me something, or?"

"You're mafia, right?" Harry challenged. Both of them were sitting across from each other in Harry's favorite used common room. He was bundled up blankets and had a steaming cup of hot chocolate next to him, while Shamal was opposite of him, reading through old magical and medical textbooks. "Mortally wound me with this banana."

Shamal's expression didn't change. "I do not attack my patients," Shamal stressed, glancing away. He added, muttering, "But you're making it awfully hard, trust me," and Harry snorted, dryly, and pulled back. He left the banana in it's compromising position between them.

"Tell me more about Flames," Harry asked, to fill the numb silence. Alfie was all too glad to let Shamal take over the reigns of being Harry's primary doctor, considering the fact that the healer was still needed at St. Mungos on a daily basis. He still came around, on every other day, to check in and make sure Shamal wasn't slowly killing him.

Heh. As if Harry needed help in that area.

"I told you everything," Shamal didn't glance up, thumbing through the textbook. He apparently didn't find what he was searching for, and closed it with a frown, pushing it off to the side. Reaching over the side of his chair, he pulled up another one, and began the process anew.

It was rather boring to watch, Harry had to admit.

Especially since it was mostly just him and Shamal in the huge, vast, Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione had, grudgingly, returned to their jobs, though they had promised to continue searching in their spare time. They also had to juggle that on top of being the only link between Harry and the rest of the magical world, dealing with questions from their circle of friends and family alike, and dealing with nosy reporters wondering what was new with Harry. Harry sunk deeper into his chair, pulling his thick blankets tighter around him; there was a reason why Harry had cut off all contact between him and the wizarding world, save for a select few, and having his privacy invaded upon was one of those reasons.

"Everything?" Harry said, bland. He highly doubted that someone like Shamal cared enough to tell him everything. Shamal, Harry had soon figured out, had a phobia of responsibility. Something Harry could relate with, considering his recent pitfall with being generally responsible for his own life, and wellbeing.

The howlers he had received, hand delivered to him personally via his two best friends, were legendary. Molly Weasley, even after all these years, still had a striking pair of lungs on her. Andromeda Tonks was- well, he highly doubted he'd ever experience something so shameful and embarrassing as getting a howler from her. It still filled him with regret, and it was also what made him dread trying to contact her.

Still, he missed Teddy. So he'll have to do that. Sometime.

"Everything you need to know," Shamal elaborated, simply. Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't find anything in himself to really argue more. So he picked up his hot mug, and slurped loudly from it, staring evenly at Shamal as he did so.

Slurp.

Shamal stiffened. Harry smirked, around his mug.

Slurp.

Shamal focused, rather pointedly, on turning a page forcefully. He jabbed his finger down the line of text, eyes trained hard. Harry had to admire his dedication.

Sluuurrrpp.

"Jesus, you've been drinking from that cup for hours," Shamal finally snapped, straightening. He tossed a haughty look towards Harry, clearly not believing Harry's best innocent look thrown at him. "Will you ever run out?" Shamal sniffed, affronted and glaring at him.

"Nope," Harry shrugged, finally pulling the mug away and setting it down on the table between them. "It is charmed to refill every time it gets low, and has a constant heating charm on it, so it's always hot. That, and this mug has a koala on it! Isn't it cute?"

Shamal eyed the painted picture of a koala bear and some tea bags on his mug with a bland look. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Because," Harry explained, slowly. "That means everything I drink has some koala-tea to it."

"I hate you," Shamal looked, and sounded, pained. He shook himself out of it, and sniffed the air, lightly. "You don't even get to make that pun, anyways. You're drinking hot chocolate, not tea," Shamal huffed.

"Details, details," Harry brushed him off. He was in a surprisingly good mood today, considering the fact that he was doped up on pain potions and charms. While his chest was practically a constant ache nowadays, today it was numbed to the point of heaviness and discomfort. The potion remedies for his flowers was still a work in progress, and Alfie had some success in the last one.

The only problem with the last one was that they almost disintegrated Harry's lungs while they were at it, which was- well, a problem. But they were getting there.

"Also," Shamal yawned, rubbing at his eyes. He gestured angrily to his own empty mug. "If you had the ability to have a constant refill and heating mug, why wasn't I aware of this? I've been suffering, over here," he glared angrily at his mug, and Harry inwardly snorted, a chuckle caught in his throat. Shamal shifted his glare slightly, and Harry smiled, crookedly at him.

"Obviously," Harry mused. "Here, about this? I'll add the charms to your lackluster mug, if you tell me more about the mafia, and Flames. More specifically, the rest of the Arcobaleno." Seeing as of that Harry was expected to meet them at some point, considering Shamal's not-so-subtle hinting and anxiety.

"I refuse to be blackmailed by my own patient," Shamal grumbled, averting his gaze. Harry huffed, leaning back in his own chair and crossing his arms. Goosebumps rose to his skin from the constant chill his body seemed to be suffering from, but he was stubborn enough to ignore it.

"If you say so, I'm not the one with caffeine for blood," Harry said, slowly, consideringly. No, Harry was the one who was currently dying, but- Harry tried not to think about that, refused to let himself fall further down the rabbit hole of depression and worry. It was better if he ignored everything, and not deal with it, it was easier.

Harry didn't want to disappoint, or be disappointed, by his lot in life.

So that meant not thinking about things in detail.

Psh. Easy.

"Do you really want to know more?" Shamal sighed, finally pushing his mug over towards Harry. Harry smirked, pulling out his wand. With a few delicate swirls of his wand, and slight murmur, Harry pushed the refilled and warm mug back towards his doctor. The magic tingled under his skin, itching at his lungs; Harry tactfully ignored it, focusing on Shamal as he took a long, drawn out, sip of his coffee and sighing. "That's the stuff," Shamal raised his mug towards Harry, and tipped his head forward, looking momentarily grateful.

"I want to know more about the Arcobaleno," Harry offered, staring intently at his doctor. "Who they are, and what exactly they do; especially how they treat their Flames." Different Flames had different properties to them, Harry figured. It was hinted at with his conversation with Ron and Hermione, with Ron being disappointed by Harry's lack of special abilities with his spiritual magic.

Shamal looked very disheartened, even as he contemplatively sipped his mug. At last, he pushed the book he was scouring over away from him and settled back into his own chair with a heavy sigh. "There are 7 other cursed Arcobaleno. In no paticular order, there names are Reborn, Viper, Fon, Lal Mirch, Colonello, Verde, and Skull."

"But there are only 7 known Flames." Harry stated, confused. How could there be 8 cursed pacified Arcobaleno?

"Lal Mirch had a nosy student who stalked her," was all Shamal said, mildly. He shrugged. "Colonello took the title from her, and thus making her cursed- but there is speculation that she will grow out of it, somehow. So far, though, no such luck. Lal Mirch is now works for the CEDEF family, the external advisor familigia to the Vongola Family, and also known for their information network."

"And Colonello?"

"I heard he was stationed at Mafia land."

"Mafia land?" That sounded- nonsensical.

Shamal smirked at him, mirthful. "It's an amusement park on an island that floats around the oceans. It's neutural ground, and is protected by the Vongola Alliance. It's also a great place for freelance work, and can house many young upcomers in the mafia world." Harry stared at him, before internally sighing. Why didn't the wizarding world have an amusement park of their own?

How unfair. "Do you think I could visit?" Harry said, curiously. "I never been to an amusement park before." Shamal snorted, into his cup.

"It gets invaded every other week, it's unsafe," Shamal crushed his dreams with the heel of his loafers.

"It's my dying wish," Harry prodded, and Shamal gave him a bland stare. "What? Is it because I don't have- guardians? Is that what those are called? Or a Family to stand behind me?" Harry sighed, guardians were another thing Shamal had been really vague about.

"Sort of," Shamal shrugged. "You're the Sky Arcobaleno. You're the most valued out of all the Arcobalenos, and will be specifically targeted because of that." That left a bitter taste on Harry's tongue, and he sighed. Just because he was an Arcobaleno, a Sky one at that- it restricted him, and that left him undeniably uncomfortable.

Er- more so than the two dieases that were slowly killing him. Besides those.

"I can take care of myself," Harry justified. Oh well. He'd probably throw up and humilate himself if he managed to go, the way he was currently. "Whatever. What about the others?"

"Hm, Verde bounces around from Family to Family," Shamal explained. "He is a scientist, a weapon scientists. He's valued for his work. He's also a Lightning Flame user. There's Viper, no one really knows who they are, or what they do. Their gender is a question everyone asks about, but they never really disclosed a set one. Maybe they don't have one," Shamal mused.

"What's their Flame?" Viper, huh. It's been awhile since Harry spoke to any type of snakes, he didn't even know if he _could_. And it wasn't like Harry could go outside in brisk London and search for any in the sprawling city.

"Mist. Which is also the same as mine," Shamal smirked, proud. He faltered a bit, though. "They mostly use illusions, though. They are the strongest Mist in the world, and with the power of the pacifier, they could bring their illusions to _life_."

Illusionist. Harry disliked any type of trickery and riddles, could never wrap his head around it. He eyed Shamal, wondering what type of personality came with his Flame type. Hermione was determined that all of this was much like a zodiac and horoscope, meaning that this was all bullocks. Ron was fascinated with it, a bit more whimsical view about it.

"There's Skull, who never really settled down. He's a Cloud, and he's a handful," Shamal continued. "Fon, who works with the Triads, is a Storm. He's the opposite of a Storm, though, and is generally the calmest of the bunch. I heard that Viper dislikes him."

"And Reborn? I'm guessing he's a Sun?" Harry had the power of deductive reasoning. Shamal shrugged, answering him. "What was he? I think you told me that he was allied with a very powerful mafia Family."

" _The_ most powerful mafia Family. The Vongola," Shamal sounded somber. "His title is world's greatest hitman. He's really smart, the strongest out of the Arcobalenos. He's also a little shit."

Harry blinked at Shamal's dry expression. "Er, okay." Harry said, mulling over the information in his head. "And they're looking for me?"

"Yep," Shamal answered, dragging his focus back to the medical textbook in front of him. Now that he was properly caffinated, he seemed to dismiss the conversation. Harry let him, settling back into his seat and staring thoughtfully at nothing. His chest itched, the dull numbing ache deepening into something a bit more painful. It burned more than ached, and Harry played with the pacifier that hung above his chest, smoothing fingers over it.

It was hard to think that this little thing was killing him. But it was also hard to think that the horcruxs were actually trinkets with torn pieces of _soul_ shoved inside them. Feeling a laspe against his better judgement, Harry brought Shamal's attention back to him by snapping his fingers, much to the other's irriation.

"I'm not a dog, you know," Shamal sniped at him.

"It was either that, or throwing my steaming mug at you," Harry explained, smirking. "But hey, I came to a decision. I want you to get in contact with the other Arcobaleno. I want to meet them."

"Are you sure?" Shamal eyed him seriously. Harry shrugged, mild. There was no point in delaying meeting the other Arcobaleno, especially if they were searching for him. He'll just let them know that he was fine, and wouldn't interfere with their day to day lives, and just retreat back in on himself, and hopefully die in peace.

The last thing Harry ever wanted was to create trouble, even if he was the one dying.

-0-0-0-

The Pacifier Spring held a sense of nostalgia.

Skull noted this as he glanced around. Huh, it seems like he was the first one out of the Arcobaleno to make it here. It made sense in a way, considering that Skull was still unaffiliated in the mafia underground, too afraid of actually being apart of something bigger than himself. Meaning, he had more free time than the others. Skull appreciated his freedom, nevermind the curse that had in inflicted on him, already making him apart of something bigger than himself- that was unavoidable, Luce told him; it was fate.

To think that something like Fate had something in store for Skull.

Something was practically worse than hell, that's for sure.

The rest of the Arcobaleno were all apart of the underground, now. Even Lal Mirch and her (according to her, "stupid") student were apart of the underground, Lal Mirch being approached by the external advisor of the Vongola Family; the head of the CEDEF himself. Colonello was stationed at Mafia Land, whipping up the slackers of the mafia land who failed the mafioso test into 'shape'. Verde was drifting around from Family to Family, making weapons for various mafia Families. Viper had all but disappeared from radar, only appearing in the Arcobaleno meetings to insult them and tell them things that they haven't known before, but it should have been obvious, right? Then charge them for it-

Of course, no one actually paid.

No one but Skull, that is. All of their debt collected onto his head, and Skull was pretty sure that they hated him. Oh well, it wasn't like Viper was getting a cent out of him; he was basically a broke baby going around from country to country, and if they expected anything more from him, that's their fault, not his!

Fon had retreated back into the Triads, and the only notable news that Skull had heard about him was the fact that Fon's sister had apparently been killed indirectly due to her wish to leave the Triads and to take care of her family. That Triad wasn't around for much longer, from what Skull managed to scrape up. He didn't even know that Fon had a family, to be honest; he just sort of expected the rest of the Arcobaleno to be like himself, orphaned and alone.

But he guessed the only 'alone' one was him, it seemed.

Even Reborn had a Family to count on if things ever gotten rough for him, and that was the Vongola Family as well. Last he heard about Reborn was that he was training the Cavallone heir to be the Decimo of the Cavallone Family, on the request of the kid's father and it was Vongola approved. Skull scuffed his leather boot, staring deep into the spring and seeing his helmeted face stare back at him.

It was weird to see everyone again, especially in the same place. Well, almost everyone- Luce had died, and she- well. Her funeral was private, and Skull was the only one to show up, being allowed in by Aria who held onto him and cried silently throughout the whole thing. He couldn't help but feel even more isolated from the rest of the Arcobaleno, being there, because Aria wasn't the Sky Arcobaleno and he was the only one who showed up to the woman's, who ruined their lives, funeral.

Now the Arcobaleno had to find the missing Sky Arcobaleno for some reason, or another.

Skull didn't know what to think, being with the rest of the Arcobaleno again like this. On one hand, he felt a little less alone, but on the other-

"Oi, lackey, what the hell are you doing here?" A voice warned, and Skull could only yelp as he felt someone kick the back of his helmet. He fell into the spring, and he scrambled out of it, heart thudding in his tiny chest. Reborn stood there, imperiously, staring at him with a slight twitch of his lips.

"What the hell, Reborn-senpai!?" Skull hissed back, after getting back up on dry land. He rolled away, and tried to shake off the water. Water and leather hardly mesh well together, and it stuck uncomfortably to his skin. "What do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

"Don't question me, lackey," Reborn ordered, coolly. "I meant, what are you doing here before anyone else? You're usually dead last, as per usual," he said, and Skull twitched. Skull ignored him, staring down at his pacifier, which glowed brighter than before considering his unexpected dip into the pool. "You should have sensed me coming, lackey," Reborn added.

"My pacifier doesn't glow as bright as your pacifiers, Reborn-senpai," Skull muttered. It was true, seeing as of that he was the weakest of the Arcobaleno. Reborn made no noise of disagreement, and Skull dragged his eyes upwards to glare at Reborn behind his helmet. "What are we even doing here, Reborn-senpai?"

This place held memories, especially right before Luce's 'betrayal'.

Did Reborn even remember this place? Skull didn't know, Reborn was different after finally coming out of his seclusion. He was still an arrogant and sadistic asshole, but he was still different; it was honestly unnerving to see, especially after the rumors came forth about his memory tinkering. Still, no one dared to confront the strongest Arcobaleno due to fear, and no one dared to call him by his previous name. Skull felt a bit stronger, and a bit cheaper, at the rumors, and meeting with Reborn whenever he did nowadays.

 _It's not fair! How can you do that? Are you not strong enough to handle what happened- notfairnotfairnotfair-_

Skull had to live with his memories, and the consequences. Everyone here did, but it seemed Reborn had found a different way to deal with this. Everything's easier to accept if you can't remember the things leading up to it, right? Skull clenched his hands, tightened his jaw, and glanced away.

"You really are an idiot, kora!" An unhelpful voice commented, and Skull internally groaned, turning to face the rest of the Arcobaleno. What the- did they carpool here!? Skull wanted a ride, if so. "We discussed this before meeting up here, maggot," Colonello huffed.

Reborn was sitting on a piece of rubble, calm and cool as ever. His animal partner, Leon, was in his lap; when Skull met eyes with it, it stuck it's tongue out at him in a lazy manner, and Skull glanced away. Out of all the Arcobaleno, he didn't have an animal partner yet; his easy and free lifestyle was mostly spent motorcycling around from country to country, and he couldn't afford that. Especially when he could barely afford gas and a cheap place to stay, nevermind eating.

Colonello and Lal Mirch had stormed into the clearing, sitting together on the opposite side of Reborn. Colonello made a rude face at Reborn, who only raised a cool eyebrow back. Verde had appeared behind the two Rains, and his bored expression twitched when he saw Reborn; still, he found a secluded spot away from everyone else, and sat down, his alligator perched on his head. Viper had floated in, and looked like they'd rather be anywhere else but here, and Skull couldn't help but feel like he could relate to that on some level. Fon had came in last, with his serene smile, and his monkey, Lichi, chittered away.

Now that everyone was here, no one spoke. Skull shifted, awkwardly, already having done his reminiscing about this place before everyone got here. The Pacifier Spring before them was clear, and the water was cool; Skull shivered, still slightly damp from his unexpected swim, and shot a slight glare behind him, up at Reborn whose face was carefully blank. Skull quickly glanced away, willing himself to blend into the scenery as much as possible.

Skull didn't want to look for trouble, especially in a place like this.

And especially from Reborn.

"This is the Spring," Viper commented, at last. Their bland voice almost blended eerily into the background, the faint noises from nature surrounding them. This place was surprisingly serene and held a sense of integrity, and Skull felt, entirely misleading by default. The Pacifier Spring was located in an unexplored part of France, and if Skull didn't have his pacifier, he was sure that it would have been entirely impossible to find.

"Indeed it is," Fon remarked. Lichi chittered, beside him, and Fon rubbed a hand behind it's ears, soothingly. "Are you sure this will lead us to the Sky Arcobaleno?" His eyes never left the spring, as distant and dark as they were; his smile never left, but something flakier tugged at it's edges.

"Do you suggest a better idea?" Viper countered, challengingly.

"Perhaps anyone here will have a saner idea," Verde scoffed, frowning. "Are we really going to believe in magic to help us out here? This whole situation is entirely implausible," he stated, glancing away when he noticed everyone's attention on him. He pushed his glasses up. "Even if this doesn't work, which I suspect it won't, there's nothing that we can do to find this lost Sky of ours," he stressed the word, almost mockingly.

It was a sore subject, for anyone here.

"We need to make sure they're not a liability to anyone here," Reborn apparently couldn't resist, staring intently at the Lightning. "If they're an Arcobaleno, that means they're pretty strong. A Sky who is strong is already dangerous enough, not to mention the fact that they might be a civilian at that."

"Whoever it is, they'll be dead in a few years anyways," Verde waved them off, uninterested. "I find no use in protecting a dead-Sky-walking," he continued.

Sky-walking. "Heh," Skull couldn't help but huff out of amusement. That was a movie he hadn't seen in awhile. But maybe he shouldn't have made any outward reaction at all, considering everyone's attention tore towards him. Crap.

"What's so funny, kora?" Colonello snapped, and Skull flinched.

"N-nothing," Skull laughed, nervously. He swallowed. "It's just- well, forget it," Skull inwardly lamented. "You guys wouldn't get it," nor would you like it, Skull thought. It was a childish joke, and he felt stupid for laughing at it now.

"Try me," Reborn said, languid.

"Don't we have better things to worry about?" Skull flushed in embarrassment. "The great Skull-sama needs to be somewhere else," somewhere other than here! And away from them.

"Sure you do," Reborn scoffed, and Skull flexed his fingers beside himself. "But the lackey is right, we have better things to worry about other than what fills the space between the lackey's ears." The insult was underhanded and Skull glanced away, too used to the insults by now. Who the hell cares what they thought?

As 'genius' and 'cool' as the other Arcobaleno were, they all ended up here.

No amount of crazy coolness and smartness could ever make them be like before. Being an Arcobaleno meant being cursed, and that meant allowing yourself to get cursed, and- well, it was hard to hide when you have the body of a toddler and a color-coded pacifier.

"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do?" Lal frowned. "Chant to the damn spring and hope for the best? I refuse to lower myself that far," she huffed, and Skull couldn't help but feel that nothing could ever get them lower than they are right now. Because they're practically babies. They're pretty low enough to the ground as it was.

"Viper, this is your idea," Reborn stated, sending a glance at the Mist. "Any ideas?"

Viper's mouth curled, sour. "A few," they mused. "But that will cost extra."

"I thought you could find somebody with that mucus thingy you do," Skull muttered. Viper sent him a sharp look, and Skull flinched, glad for his helmet. "Skull-sama has met a lot of fortune tellers before, and they could find people better than you." Maybe, maybe not; Skull felt a bit vindictive and felt the need to talk, and this seemed like a good spot to interject himself into the conversation.

"Don't insult me," Viper seethed.

"I'm not," Skull muttered. "But for someone who is all-knowing as you- you're pretty clueless about this like the rest of us, aren't you? This whole idea is stupid! Skull-sama wants to go," Skull scuffed his leather boot against the dusty ground, scraping against the soft grass.

"I'm. Not. Clueless." Viper enunciated, irritation clear in their voice. "If you have any better ideas, I'd love to hear it, lackey," Viper never talked to him before like that, and Skull knew he struck a nerve.

Skull was hardly perturbed considering that he was used to that type of tone and insult. After all this time, being with other people who practically despised him, Skull was tired and was feeling oddly caged and restless.

"Skull-sama doesn't need this, Skull-sama doesn't need you," Skull snapped. Luce was dead, and despite what the other Arcobaleno thinks, Skull did care for her, even after the huge blowout that happened after the curse had taken place. "Screw everyone here, I'm leaving," Skull declared, puffing himself up and turning away to find the mouth of the clearing surrounding the Spring.

"Lackey," Reborn growled behind him.

"Don't lackey me, Reborn-senpai! There's nothing here, and even if there was something here, Skull-sama isn't needed!" Skull retorted, angrily. If he was expecting no whiplash, he was wrong, considering that a harsh tug from the back of his suit had him landing back into the Spring. Reborn stood menacingly before him, as he struggled back out. "Stop that, dammit," Skull muttered.

"We don't need mutiny right now," Reborn commented, collected and in control as per usual. Skull was still kneeling on the ground, and Reborn took the time to aim a sharp kick at Skull's helmet, making him sputter and scramble away, holding himself defensively.

Fon stepped in, "As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, perhaps Skull is right. We should give this a rest, we have no conclusive leads and nothing else to go on but our pacifiers." Reborn sniffed, offended, and he sat himself back up onto his previous seat atop the rubble. It was slightly elevated from everyone else's spots, which only served to remind Skull that Reborn was the strongest out of them all.

And he was still an egotistical jerk enough to show it.

"If this doesn't work," Reborn stated. "Then we'll give it a rest."

Viper was still glaring intentfully at Skull, making something shudder inside of him in fear. He glanced away, arms still folded tightly. He was still on edge and cagey, but Skull consoled himself with the fact that these meetings with the others would end soon and then he'd get a brief reprieve from them.

Before Viper would speak, Verde spoke up. "I hate to agree with the idiot, but he does bring up a point. Your psychic ability could not track this wayward Sky because of why, exactly?" Verde's voice held a hint of curiosity, making Viper twitch. A curious Verde was nothing to blink at, Skull had to admit.

Which was also partly the reason why he had made the scientist agree to a contract to not conduct science experiments on him. Skull had a heady reputation of being unkillable due to his Cloud Flames, even before the curse had happened.

"It felt like some type of blockage," Viper admitted, with no little spite. They glanced away. "Now, if people will stop interrupting me," they shot a sharp look towards Skull, who made a rude gesture back. "Why, you-"

"Just get on it," Lal snapped, impatient. "We don't have all day!"

"Lal is right, kora!" Colonello huffed, crossing his arms.

"Augh, fine," Viper seethed, reigning in their temper. They didn't look happy about it, and their pacifier was hazy, from the the amount of barely restrained Mist Flames emerging from it. "Everyone, gather around the spring," Viper ordered, still upset and curt.

Skull toed back up to the spring, shooting wary glances at Reborn, who came to stand beside him. Not that close, but close enough for Skull to feel a sense of dread pooling into his stomach. Reborn shot him a mean smirk, making Skull almost flinch and glance away. Once everyone gathered around the spring, Viper stared distantly into the spring, contemplatively.

"We'll need to push our Flames into our Pacifiers," Viper finally declared, and Skull huffed, gripping at his own. Flames was a weird concept to Skull, even after all these years. He was barely aware of what they even were until almost 15 years ago, when they were cursed. Still, after all this time, Skull had managed to gather up enough control to feel his Flames underneath his skin.

Everyone's pacifiers were already glowing when they all had came into the clearing, Skull's managing to even match up to them considering his two unexpected trips into the Pacifier Spring. So there wasn't any noticeable change in everyone's pacifier if there wasn't a slight shift in atmosphere, a thicker density falling upon the group, making Skull's hackles rise slightly.

"Now what?" Reborn asked, staring into the spring. Skull searched his carefully blank expression, really wondering if he really couldn't remember or not. He glanced away before he could be caught sneaking glances at the other baby, awkwardly.

"Now, we focus," Viper's voice was distant. "Focus on the link between all the Pacifiers," they mused. "If the Spring is compliant enough, then maybe they'll give us a hint to where the newest Sky brat is." It was- really vague, and Skull couldn't really comprehend how a freaking spring could give them answers.

Still, no one said anything, all focusing on the spring.

Skull was starting to feel silly before he noticed a further shift in the atmosphere, a slight breeze going through the slightly clearing surrounding the spring. It rippled the water, almost prettily, and Skull was hypnotized, staring into the clear and reflective surface of the spring.

Memories sprung to the surface, skimming the edges of Skull's mind. His first meeting with the Arcobaleno, and the last one before everything went to shit. Well, more shit than before. The aftermath of the curse- his years of running, from country to country, ashamed of his body, ashamed of himself.

 _It's fate, Skull,_ Luce's voice echoed in his mind. _I- I did what was best for everyone, I promise you._

 _How, how was this for the best? How, how, how-_

A sharp ring broke everyone out of their reverie.

It was a relief, and Skull jumped away, as did everyone. Fon's expression was tight, and his smile was absent, as he stared up at the luminous sky above them. Viper recoiled from the spring, glaring at the ground with a sour twist of their lips. Verde had stepped back, indifferent as always. Both Colonello and Lal had stumbled back together, Lal grumbling under her breath as Colonello glanced worriedly at her. Skull turned away from everyone, trying to calm his thudding and heavy heart, wondering what the others saw to make them react like this.

He risked a glance at Reborn, who seemed to be the source of the unexpected noise. Reborn showed no negative reaction to the spring, and Skull felt a stab of envy. What would the spring have shown him if he didn't lock away his memories, he thought, watching Reborn answer his transformed animal partner like a mobile phone.

Wait. What the-

"How the hell are you getting signal out here?!" Skull accused, blinking. They were practically in the middle of nowhere! Reborn shot him a cool look, before dismissing him and turning away.

"You what?" Reborn asked, taking a few steps away from the spring. Everyone's attention was on him, now. Not that he seemed to care. "Hm," Reborn mused. "I see. Where are you?" A few moments of silence. "Alright. Keep him occupied until we can get a chance to meet him."

Leon transformed back into, well, Leon, and crawled up Reborn's arm to rest upon his shoulders. Reborn petted him absently, turning back to the rest. "A friend of mine has found the missing Sky Arcobaleno. He is in England."

Skull didn't know whether or not to be mad at the fact that he had came out here all the way to the spring for nothing, or relieved that they weren't going to try the spring again. He settled on both, and hunched in himself. Well, at least they finally found the newest Sky Arcobaleno, and Skull's forced nonchalance at the whole ordeal wavered slightly.

No matter if they were cursed one way, or both ways- it all ended the same for those underneath the Sky Arcobaleno curse.

Skull- didn't want to meet the poor bastard, because Verde was right.

No point in getting close to the next dead-Sky-walking.

-0-0-0-

Harry had gagged up, much to Shamal's still-present horror, eglantine flowers.

 _I wound to heal_.

"Jesus, when is Alfie going to finish that medicine of his," Shamal grumbled, helping him into his bed. Harry curled up on his side, coughing weakly in a laugh. If these flowers were like his little fortune cookies for the future, maybe Harry should try and find a way to keep them without killing him.

But that was a joke, considering the fact that Harry probably didn't have much a future left to look forward to.

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read.

Do any of you guys have any fun ideas you'd want me to explore in this story? :'D

I seriously need them, haha.

-mms


	5. Chapter 4

**Hemp Flowers Meant Fate**

 _Chapter 4_

 _This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. If you see an error,_ _ **please**_ _tell me!_

 **Warnings:** Graphic language. Mentions of body disfiguration. General. Rushed writing.

 **A/N:** Thank you everyone who reviewed last chapter, and/or voted for this chapter to be updated in that poll I set up just a week ago, lol. I appreciate all the feedback! I updated this faster than I thought possible, though it seems a bit short. But faster updates require shorter chapters, so I try to make it up by—including hopefully interesting stuff in the chapter?

I hope. ._.

Anyways, I'm glad so many people like Skull's POV last chapter! A lot of people were annoyed by Reborn and Colonnello's actions towards Skull, and some were even confused at Reborn's apparent lack of concern towards Luce's death. I'll clear it up here: Skull is an unreliable narrator, especially concerning his thoughts towards Reborn, lolololol.

Also, if things seem slow and 'melodramatic'—did you read the genre for this story? D: If I could have an angsty Harry dying of two curses, despite probably being weakened to an insane degree and is left with nothing but his own thoughts and feelings, skydiving and landing on a velociraptor to go kick ass, I promise you, I _would_.

But for now: enjoy!

[ **Edit** **9/20/17:** Fixed up, and added some things. Added a bit more info regarding LASIK, though not much. :]

* * *

Teddy cooed at him.

Harry had to admit he was still cute, despite being well into his 'terrible two' phase. He watched Teddy babble to him, nodding along at the right parts, and gingerly wincing when Teddy seemed to find his hair interesting and tugged on it. Hard. Teddy's hair and eyes changed color, briefly settling on one color or another before moving on. It was kind of mesmerizing to watch.

And it reminded Harry of Teddy's mother, Tonks.

It—it made something swell in his chest, making it hard to swallow.

Suddenly very sentimental, Harry brushed a hand through Teddy's ever-changing hair, and hugged him, nuzzling his chin against the top of Teddy's head. A bit sad, and a bit grateful. "I missed you, Teddy," Harry sighed. "I'm sorry I haven't played with you in a while."

Teddy just blinked at him. "Okay," he said, with a cute smile. "S'okay."

"I just wanna shake you and imprint upon you how much I love you," Harry bemoaned. To emphasize his point, he gently shook Teddy by his shoulders, making him giggle wildly. Smiling brightly at his godson, Harry allowed himself to savor the flare of contentedness this moment brought him.

Of course, it all came crashing down when Harry risked a glance at Andromeda, who was staring imperiously at him. He internally winced, and averted his gaze, swallowing guiltily as Teddy was rocking back and forth on his lap, trying to get Harry to shake him again, smiling widely.

Teddy was too young to feel any type of understanding to Harry's recent pitfalls in his health, so he couldn't react justly to him. So, it fell to Andromeda to react for him, and hold him accountable for his actions.

Harry felt so selfish for wanting to let himself die.

 _What type of a godfather is he_?

Sirius had braved Azkaban, _escaped_ Azkaban, for _him_. Harry could never live up to the legacy his own godfather had left for him. The thought of Sirius stirred even more bitter and stagnant emotions within him, his chest itching in response, mockingly. Even if Teddy didn't understand it now, Harry was determined to make it up to him; he saw himself in Teddy, and couldn't help but silently yearn that it wasn't like that.

Suddenly craving something, Harry sent Teddy an impish smile. "Do you want some chocolate, Teddy? Chocolate cures _everything_ ," Teddy's eyes widened at the mention. He nodded, chewing on his thumb. Andromeda made a noise, prompting the two boys to glance at her.

"No chocolate before dinner," Andromeda rolled her eyes, her lips quirking slightly. Teddy blinked, before looking momentarily distraught.

"If we wait until _after_ dinner, then it be too chocoLATE," Harry protested, causing Andromeda to stare at him, aghast. He flashed her an indulgent smirk, before returning his attention to Teddy, who appeared confused and slightly hopeful. "Remember, Teddy, there are two people in the world: people who love chocolate, and liars."

"Right, right," Teddy grinned, excited. "Chocolate!"

Andromeda seemed to recover from Harry's rather bad pun. "If his appetite is ruined, I'm blaming you," she warned, with a slight sigh. She put aside one of her novels, even the Wizarding World had its own type of dime novels; it was a secret pleasure for Andromeda, Harry figured. Hey, he wasn't judging. He liked to lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling for hours on end.

Even before his two curses rendered him practically incapable of walking.

Harry briefly wanted to ride his flying broom again, too feel the bite of the wind on his skin, ruffling his hair. The feeling of lightness and adrenaline was something Harry wanted to feel again, there was always something carefree about flying through the air, dangling above the ground by mere sticking charms. He couldn't remember the last time he flew.

It's been too long.

"I'll take full responsibility," Harry gave Andromeda a mock-salute. "I swear on my pillows."

"…Pillows?" Andromeda raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly.

"Don't knock my pillows, they're soft and nice, and accept me for who I am," Harry sniffed. Teddy giggled at Harry's dramatics, making him smile. "I would gladly give up one to you if you doubt me," Andromeda let out a bemused chuckle.

"Now, now, no need to get so hasty," she decided. "I wouldn't want you to sacrifice something so important to you. I just don't want Teddy's appetite to be ruined."

"…Chocolate helps digestion?"

"Anything to back up that claim?"

"Personal belief…?"

Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Hurry up before I change my mind," she declared. Harry nodded, snapping his fingers in hopes of calling Kreacher to them. Teddy clumsily mimicked the motion, which caused Harry to wink at him.

"Kreacher!" Harry called, waiting patiently. With a slight 'pop', Kreacher stood in the room. He glared balefully at Andromeda, wiping at his leaking eyes, sniffing loudly. "Sorry for bothering you, Kreacher, but can you get me some chocolate?"

Kreacher made a face. "Fine," he said, sullenly.

"Elf!" Teddy babbled, after Kreacher apparated back out of the room. "Like, like, Olly!"

"Olly is actually likeable," Andromeda muttered. She sighed, and sent Harry a rather tight-lipped smile. "Kreacher never changed," she shook her head, making Harry shrug mildly at him. Kreacher was easy to get used to, and in some ways, Harry felt pity for the grouchy house-elf.

After Kreacher had returned and left sourly, Teddy and Harry munched on chocolate. Andromeda was staring at Harry, eyes narrowed contemplatively, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on the armrest of her chair. Harry pointedly ignored her intense gaze, focused on Teddy; he chewed loudly, nodding when Teddy fed him. Teddy was grinning, taking a bite out of the chocolate before offering Harry the rest.

It was a bit unhygienic, but Harry was currently dying from two curses. So that was moot.

Besides, Harry would willingly die if it was Teddy's cute smile that killed him.

Andromeda and Teddy had been 'invited' to Grimmauld Place to visit Harry just the day after Harry's decisive decision to meet the rest of the Arcobaleno. Invited meaning that Andromeda had invited herself, and Teddy, into the house to check up on him. Shamal had been given proper warning before they got here, and had decided to make himself scarce when he heard there was going to be a kid involved in this visit. He suffered Harry's judging stare with a mindful shrug, packing up the various textbooks and magical texts. "Kids aren't my forte," was all he said before he left.

Children was never one of Harry's strongpoints. It wasn't like he didn't _like_ them, or dislike them; there was just never any chances for him to be around them long enough to form an opinion. Before Teddy, there was never an instance where Harry needed to be around children. To feel better about himself, Harry would like to say that he liked children enough.

Even if it was only Teddy that he had any real experience with.

Near the end of their visit, Teddy was dozing in Harry's arms, it was time. Andromeda flashed him a wan smile. "So," she began, leisurely. "How have you been feeling, lately?"

"…Good? I'm going to say good," Harry sent her a long-suffering look. It fell away at her hard stare, and he sighed. "Look, I know what this is about. I'm sorry, okay? I don't need to be reminded of all my recent wrong-doings, Andromeda," he chewed the inside of his cheek, staring at the fluff of hair Teddy possessed. It was a sleepy blue now, reflecting his drowsy state.

Andromeda stared at him, before relenting. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or feel as if I'm cornering you, Harry," she said. Harry risked a small glance at her, inwardly relaxing when face was kind. "I'm just a bit—saddened by the fact that you didn't think you could come to me, or your friends, about your problems in the first place," she sighed, a sudden downward twist to her lips. Regret lined her face, and Harry felt a stab of guilt.

"It's—It's a me problem, I promise," Harry hedged. "So please don't feel bad, Andromeda. I'm getting the help I need now," as futile as it might appear to be. Harry shushed himself, shifting so he could pull Teddy tighter to him, hugging him. Harry was never one for physical contact, always uncomfortable with any type of skin brushes or lingering touches.

But he, surprisingly, liked hugs.

There was something comforting in the fact, something reassuring. The first person to ever hug him was Molly Weasley, something he was uncomfortable with at first but—as the school years went on, it became more welcoming. Hugging was a type of assurance that Harry desperately needed in his school years, especially when Voldemort returned and no one _fucking_ believed him about it.

It was also part of the reason why he liked Ginny so much back then.

And—Harry sunk down lower in his seat, his mouth quirking up in a humorless smile. It must also be partly the reason why they broke up, he thought. At the very least, he was thankful for the fact that Ginny and he were still on good terms, despite how flustered and embarrassed he was around her nowadays.

"I just—" Andromeda cut herself off with a low sigh. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you too." Harry searched her expression, before nodding with a grimace of a smile. "I heard from Ms. Granger that your newest primary healer is—muggle?"

At the mention of Shamal, Harry snorted slightly. "In a sense," he said vaguely. "But Healer Alfie is still there, as well. He's the one who is helping me with one of my curses, and walking me through both magical and regular therapy."

Andromeda raised a slender eyebrow. "You haven't received a qualified mind healer for your therapy?" Harry glanced away, shrugging mindfully. To be honest, it would have been too much work for someone like him to push the papers through, and schedule appointments. Alfie had agreed to be the primary healer for him in all cases, disregarding the Arcobaleno curse; as it turns out, Alfie was the jack-of-all trades type of healer.

Shamal told him something along the lines of him having no life.

"Healer Alfie is qualified enough," Harry defended. "I don't trust anyone else."

It was true, considering his status in the Wizarding World. The littlest amount of people he had to interact with, the less of a chance of him being somehow betrayed. It was a taught line of paranoia, something that even Andromeda had to hum at with an understanding glint in her eyes.

"Hard work for Healer Alfie I'm willing to guess," Andromeda mused.

Guiltily, Harry fidgeted. "He'll have a great recommendation letter from me?" It was almost laughable at how much influence Harry could have, if the press of the Wizarding World was in a good mood or not. Being a public figure was hard, as experienced when the press could turn on the flip of a coin and hate him fiercely if just _one_ thing tipped them off.

So, Harry always did the logical thing, and not give them anything at all.

"I bet he will," Andromeda rolled her eyes, and looked at Teddy. Teddy had passed out somewhere in between their conversation, head lolled back and snoring lightly through his mouth. Harry shifted so his skinny elbow stopped digging into the crook of his arm. "I think it's time for Teddy and me to take our leave. It has been nice seeing you," Andromeda said, sincerely.

Harry escorted her to the fireplace, stubbornly holding onto Teddy on the way there. His bones felt exhausted and aching, a layer of fatigue weighing him down. His stomach was lurching nauseously, and his chest felt stuffed, tight. Despite the chills shuddering underneath his skin, his skin felt clammy and hot. Still, the least Harry could do for his godson was to carry him for a short bit.

Andromeda paused, after Harry shifted Teddy over to her. She looked almost hesitant, before she reached forward, and tugged Harry close to her, Teddy squished somewhat between them. Ah, it was a hug. Something unbearably sentimental lodged itself into Harry's throat, and he swallowed awkwardly around them, reluctantly raising his hands to hug her back.

At last, he pulled away, "Thank you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I hope you feel better soon," Andromeda told him. She flashed him an indulgent smile, shifting so Teddy could rest his head more comfortably on her shoulder. "I'm always a letter away, Harry. And we're family, we're bound by blood. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you," a moment's pause, and she frowned. "At least, within reason, of course."

"Ah, darn," Harry chuckled, dryly. His lungs itched. "I was planning on asking you if you were interested in helping me rig the lottery." Andromeda chuckled, a low and husky sound, before shaking her head fondly.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," Andromeda said, exasperated.

Harry staggered back into his seat, after they left. He didn't want to go into another coughing fit, but he knew he had to, at some point, lest he suffocate. Still, it was an uncomfortable experience. Something chipped away at him every time he had to dislodge some flowers from himself, ripping bits of his lungs out with the stems and petals. Not to mention how wrecked he felt afterwards, his chest feeling like it was cracked open; the taste of blood lingered in his tea and meals afterwards, tainting everything in a dingy coppery taste.

He _really_ wished that Alfie would hurry up on that potion.

Andromeda's words rang in his mind, as he slumped into his chair, shivering and miserable. _Take care of yourself_. The content and cute expression Teddy made, the low and fond chuckle that Andromeda had; Hermione's and Ron's easy-going conversation—they flashed through his mind, and Harry pressed his eyes closed, trying to savor the flare of _will_ that rose inside him.

For their sake, Harry was going to have to.

-0-0-0-

Viola tricolor.

 _Think of me._

The steady burn of pain was ripping his chest in two, like a piece of paper being aggressively torn apart. A heavy ringing filled his head, the air catching in his throat; he couldn't breathe for a second. Luckily, it passed in a few moments, his sore and damaged throat dragging air to his desperate and beaten lungs. Blood and something earthy lingered in his mouth, the blood clotting grittily in the back of his throat, on his tongue.

His stomach lurched uneasily, and Harry threw the bloodied flowers off to the side. He threw up what little was in his stomach, bent sharply over the waste bin.

Happy to be alone for once, Harry bit a short-lived whimper between his teeth. Frustration and exhaustion piled high, and Harry had to press his eyes closed tight against the feeling of 'bleh' that had overridden him. _Patience_ , Harry told himself as he collapsed back into his bed, curling up to one side. Patience was a virtue, and all that.

But it was increasingly frustrating to go through all the therapy with seemingly no results.

 _Think of me._

It wasn't like he wasn't _trying_. Even if he wasn't giving his 100%, he was still _trying_ ; that was a lot for him. Contemplatively, he twirled the orange pacifier in between his fingers, staring at it dully. The therapy Alfie was sending him through was focused mainly on regular therapy, not being able to complete the _magical_ one until the potion was finished and could control the growth rate of Harry's lung flowers without having him ripping his lungs out of his body one bloody petal at a time.

Behavioral Cognitive Therapy.

That's the therapy he was going through currently. Alfie had explained it to him as a more of a hands-on and practical approach to deal with the lingering PTSD and major depression he had. It was a short-term, goal-orientated, psychotherapy aimed to help change the thinking and behavioral patterns behind Harry's difficulty in life. It was basically re-teaching Harry how to handle and deal with his emotional problems.

E.g. Harry having two life threatening curses and choosing _not_ to do anything about them. _Now_ , Harry can forgive himself for his lapse in judgement. It wasn't his fault, not fully, but his depression that helped influence his rather closed-off thought process.

Harry felt exhaustion pull him down, leaving the pacifier loosely clasped in his hand; he needed to go from 0 to 100 real quick in terms of mental health, if he even had a _chance_ of beating these two curses. His casual acceptance of death helped him win a war, but it wouldn't help him that much in terms of learning how to live _past_ the war.

 _Think of me_.

Before Harry passed out, he felt some type of will stir inside him, a comforting warmth that pulsed through him; it chased away the chill. The pacifier pulsed with it, and if Harry could focus enough on it, he could almost feel the same type of warmth emit from it, drinking it in greedily.

Huh.

-0-0-0-

The newest Sky Arcobaleno requested they meet somewhere in public.

It was obvious Shamal didn't like this, by the way his enunciated his words, something sullen and disproving lurking underneath his tone. Reborn had smirked dryly at Shamal's petulance, and arranged the time and place. His friend had been grumbling about 'troublesome Skies' and lack of women in his life as he hung up.

Sometimes, people never changed.

Shamal was a good, old, friend of Reborn's; he was the one who helped Reborn erase his old self, and be _reborn_. So Reborn was momentarily glad that it was Shamal who had found this wayward and newest Sky Arcobaleno, though he had a nagging feel that there was still a lot that Shamal was not telling him.

At the thought of the Sky Arcobaleno, Reborn's thoughts darkened. While he was glad that Luce's beloved daughter, Aria, did not have to share her mother's destiny, he was still suffering through rapid mood swings and self-inflicted thoughts of his old friend, Luce. Luce and him had never had the chance to properly reconcile, due to conflicting time schedules and Reborn still coming to terms with being an Arcobaleno. He had dropped off the radar for a few years, before he returned a changed infant. Shamal and his mosquitoes had helped with that, and even then, it took a few years to properly settle into his own cursed role of Arcobaleno.

Between regaining, and holding, his renowned title of World's Greatest Hitman, to working under Timoteo with the Vongola Familigia, to suffering from dysphoria of being an infant and will probably stay like that for the rest of his life, Reborn had a lot on his plate. That's not even mentioning the fact that he was working towards his doctorates, and masters, in various university subjects (more mathematically inclined), and tutoring pipsqueak Dino.

After Luce's death, however, Reborn managed to open his schedule up for a few weeks.

Enough time to check up on Aria. Enough time to say his goodbyes to Luce; sweet, kind, Luce who looked all too tiny and pale and _content_. It was hard to see her like that, hard to see her as an infant, a _deceased_ infant; Reborn could barely stand to be in the room where they held her casket open for viewing for immediate Giglio Nero Familigia members for any longer than 5 minutes.

And certainly enough time for Reborn to find the newest Sky Arcobaleno.

While he didn't have high expectations for the newest damned Sky, he did have standards. Being around many powerful Skies high up on the Vongola Alliance did that to someone. Still, this was a possibly _civilian_ Sky. _The_ current strongest Sky in the world—civilian—those two did not mix. If the Sky had been _that_ strong, _the_ strongest, then how did he manage to slip by the underground's radar?

Too many questions.

Hopefully, they'll be answered today.

Skull squawked and tripped forward, landing in a dirty puddle. It ruined the amiable silence that had been constructed earlier that morning by all the Arcobaleno. Reborn eyed the weakest of Arcobaleno, who was sputtering and scrambling upwards, trying to brush off his failure by whistling and averting his gaze. It took all of Reborn's willpower to glance away, especially after catching Skull's timid glance and smirking meanly in his direction.

Still, he didn't say anything. He was too caught up in trying to get to the arranged meeting place, so he forced them all forward. It would have been easier to catch a ride through London to get to the arranged place, no doubt _drier_ , but traffic in London was hell. Even for their tiny infant legs, walking would no doubt be faster, and honestly, Reborn didn't see why the others had complained about the muggy weather and the stubborn drizzle that made the crowded city even more miserable and gloomy.

Then again, they didn't have a shapeshifting animal partner named Leon, who had kindly shapeshifted into an umbrella for Reborn the moment he stepped out of the hotel.

Ozone Coffee Roasters was still a fairly new place in London, but it had good reviews. It was still fairly early, mostly because they only allowed parties with over 8 people to book a spot before 11 AM on the weekdays. It had an open and decent atmosphere, friendly even; unassuming. Reborn eyed every opening and anyone else who was in the café critically, making sure to keep his expression calmly blank. He casually ignored the surprised glances from the other patrons and workers here, looking for something.

Or rather, someone.

While he had long since mastered his emotions, there was an almost nervous tension strung tight in his gut. Disappointingly, he couldn't find the two people he came to meet at first glance; it probably meant that they were further in the back, obscured from view. That would mean that they would have to search for them, or ask for their table underneath the party name. The first would be more acceptable, seeing as of that Reborn hated interacting with civilians, especially in the form he was in now.

A brief flicker of annoyance, and Reborn internally sighed when a timid and curious worker walked up to them, fidgeting with their notepad with a friendly and nervous smile. _Here we go_ , Reborn glanced up at the worker, suddenly very aware of the others lingering behind him. As arguably the strongest, at the forefront of the group, _and_ the cutest, no doubt he'll be the one that they'll direct their questions too.

Oh, the woes of being the world's greatest hitman.

"Excuse me, young man," as expected, the worker bent down slightly to blink curiously at them. "Are you guys lost? Do you know where your guardians are?" Their eyes raked over the rest of the Arcobaleno, and they visibly melted, something soft lining their features. It made something irritable shudder underneath Reborn's skin, unable to stand the patronizing tone the worker was displaying.

"No, we're here for a meeting," Reborn said, staring imperiously up at the worker. The effect was lost on them, but the adoration fell away to confusion. Slightly better.

"Oh," was all the worker said, face scrunched up in open confusion. "That's nice," they said, slowly. "If you guys want to sit down while I make a few calls," they started, and Reborn could practically feel the other's seizing up behind him. Reborn internally laughed at them, focusing on the flare of amusement that their reaction brought him rather than the instinctive blanch the worker's words had on him.

This was a civilian, not another mafioso who knew who they were. It wasn't like Reborn could *show* them that they weren't ordinary infants.

Luckily, someone intervened. "I'm sorry for making you guys wait, I hope it wasn't too terribly inconvenient," the voice belonged to a young adult, probably not even out of his teenage years, who looked incredibly tired. While there were signs of fatigue shown in the slight bruising around the teenager's stunning green eyes, in his tousled dark hair, it was mostly shown in how he carried himself. Something tired was lining his posture, lining his crooked little smile.

Instinctively, Reborn knew this was the newest Sky Arcobaleno.

If it wasn't for the Sky orange pacifier, it was for the young Sky's presence. While not too apparent, there was an air of easy, tired, assurance around the Sky. He was dressed rather nicely, so much so that Reborn had to internally hum in slight appreciation. The fabric and cut of his suit looked fine and expensive, lines fitting the teenager's seemingly exhausted posture, though Reborn couldn't really place the designer. His boots (bold choice to go with a suit that finely made, but somehow, he made it work) looked similarly to the growingly famous Marc Jacobs line, but Reborn -for once- confidently couldn't say that it was that designer brand.

Curious, that.

The Sky's words seemed to hold more than what they first appeared. Sorry for making them wait, huh? Reborn's eyes glinted, as the worker glanced between the young Sky and the rest of the Arcobaleno, both of which were eying each other curiously.

"Do you—know them?" The worker sounded helplessly confused.

The young Sky dragged his eyes towards them. "Indeed, I do, sorry for any confusion," the Sky apologized with a sheepish, still tired, smile. At the worker's still-present confusion, he tilted his head and blinked slowly at them. "Is there something wrong?" If it wasn't for the slightly crooked tilt of his lips, Reborn could have written it off as genuine concern.

Perhaps it was, Reborn didn't know. After all, he still didn't catch the young Sky's name.

The worker flushed. "It's just—they're—"

"They're what?" The young Sky prompted, his crooked smile growing slightly into a small grin. "If you got something on your mind, say it," he continued, almost leisurely. Reborn could almost snort at the young Sky's actions, linking this behavior to Shamal's recent complaints of 'troublesome Skies'.

"I-," the worker cut themselves off, and breathed deeply through their nose. They sent a strained grin at the Arcobaleno, and the young Sky. "I got to get back to work, enjoy your stay here, please," they sounded faint, before they turned on heel and walked away, back towards their coworkers with an almost dazed air.

A moment's silence, as the young Sky blew out a slightly disappointed sigh and turned back towards the Arcobaleno. He eyed them, amiable yet tired expression still in place. "I got a table further in the back," was all he said, hesitantly turning to presumably lead them to said table. "We can talk more openly there."

Reborn smirked, and followed. "Lead the way," he said. He shot a discreet glance at the rest, noting Viper's sudden stillness and almost choked, inaudible, noises. He raised an eyebrow, and glanced at Fon, who smiled back calmly, shrugging slightly. _I don't know_ , it conveyed. _Curious and curious_ , Reborn couldn't help but think.

Shamal was reading The Times, drinking a long macchiato. An empty lunch plate was sat unattended in front of him, the spot next to him obviously being taken by the young Sky. "Sorry for ordering ahead," the young Sky apologized, sliding into the seat next to Shamal. His hands trembled slightly, so slight that if Reborn wasn't Reborn, he wouldn't have noticed it, as he grasped his own drink, taking a long swig and slumping in his seat. "Please, take a seat."

"Finish eating," Shamal ordered, curtly. He folded the newspaper and put it away. "They're here now, so no more using them as an excuse to put off eating." Harry's amiable expression faltered, and he sent a dry look towards the young mafia doctor. Ah, Reborn smirked.

"Good morning, Shamal," Reborn greeted, causing Shamal to glance at him. "It's been a long time."

"It has," Shamal agreed with a slight tilt of his head. The young Sky was glancing between them, absently chewing on his own meal. It appeared to be some type of seeded bread, with an even spread of some type of jam; Reborn was vividly reminded of his own hunger. "Here, I'll fetch a waitress for you guys; please, make yourself comfortable. And Harry," he sent a bland look towards the young Sky, who looked innocently back. "Please, please for the love of God, behave yourself."

The young Sky, Harry, finished his bite. Wiping at his mouth, he said, "Keep doubting me, Shamal, and my _espresso_ will become _depresso_ real quick." He said this seriously, and Shamal dragged a tired hand down his face. At this, Harry flashed him an indulgent smirk, even as the lackey snorted quietly behind Reborn.

"You're so _lame_ ," Shamal seethed, before shaking his head. "I'm off," he said before he disappeared towards the front of the restaurant, grumbling.

Harry watched him, before sighing and turning towards the still standing Arcobaleno. "I don't even like puns," he confided, with his wan smile. It was a far-cry from the shit-eating and indulgent smirk a few moment's prior. "You guys can sit, you know? I'm not going to bite."

"I think introductions are in order," Reborn reminded him, cautiously gauging him now that they were alone. Deciding to start with himself, Reborn tipped his head forward in a polite nod. "My name is Reborn."

"Oh, right." Harry muttered. He fidgeted with his napkin, sending them another curious glance before glancing away. He sighed, "My name is Harry Black." With a slight glance around, Harry seemed to reassure himself that they were in a secluded part of the restaurant. Not to mention that Shamal's lingering Mist Flames helped deter any nosy people. "I guess I'm the newest Sky Arcobaleno?"

At the mention of that, Reborn felt the air turn a bit tenser. Harry seemed to notice, and he huffed, more or less to himself, his wan smile becoming slighter. He scratched absently at his chest, jostling the glowing orange pacifier that hung over his pressed and finely cut suit.

"It seems you are," Fon miraculously stepped forward, calm smile still in place. Lichi chittered curiously, prompting him to scratch at its ears soothingly. "My name is Fon, I'm the Storm Arcobaleno. Reborn here is the Sun Arcobaleno," he covered for Reborn easily.

Reborn inwardly huffed at that. " _And_ the world's greatest hitman," he added, just to add it. Harry, disappointingly, didn't seem all too surprised at the confession; he nodded along, politely eager.

"Show off, kora!" Colonnello snapped at him, puffing himself up and stepping forward. He tried to appear taller than Reborn, making him twitch slightly. "My name is Colonnello, and this is—" Lal snarled wordlessly, drop-kicking the other Rain into submission.

"Don't speak for me, stupid student," Lal huffed, turning towards a blinking Harry. "My name is Lal Mirch, the idiot that just spoke there is the Rain Arcobaleno." Lal stared imperiously at Harry, eying him, almost _daring_ him to mention her stone pacifier. Harry didn't mention it, smiling wanly at her with a slight incline of his head.

"Nice to meet you," Harry murmured.

"Verde. Scientist." Verde looked indifferent as always, appearing almost bored. Harry chanced a slight wave at him, eying him curiously.

"Like your glasses," Harry finally said, cheerfully. "I used to wear a similar pair, but then I fixed my eyesight," he nodded, prompting Verde to become sharply curious. As did Reborn, even though he didn't like doing anything remotely common with the Lightning Arcobaleno. Fixing your eyesight in this day and age, without presumably mafia influence? While there had been an uprising of LASIK in recent years in the civilian world, it was highly expensive, even for someone who was dressed in a fine-cut suit like Harry's. Not to mention that Harry would have to have been of legal age to approve of such a risky, albeit growing popular, procedure, and he didn't even look like he was barely 18.

That was a miracle wrapped up in luck.

Before Verde could step forward and interrogate the young and clueless Sky, who didn't know the plague of a _curious_ Verde, the lackey interrupted, loudly and with the expected annoying flair that Reborn guessed would happen. "I'M THE GREAT SKULL-SAMA! Remember it, for they shall inscribe it throughout all the countries in their legendary myths!" Skull stepped forward, hands on hips, and Reborn felt annoyance flicker in him. Being confident doesn't mean _being louder_.

Harry looked momentarily bemused, a flicker of something sardonic twisting his lips, before he smoothed his expression over. It was politely amused now. "I'll be sure to remember it, Skull-sama," Harry replied, stumbling slightly over the honorific tacked shamelessly onto Skull's name.

Skull appeared momentarily stunned, before he literally _swelled_ with giddiness.

Oh, Lord. Save them now.

"How about you, Viper?" Fon calmly steered the conversation away from the landmine, turning towards the Mist with an amiable smile. Viper's mouth, which was hanging open, clamped shut and they sent a cold look towards the Storm. They seemed to be trembling, small hands clenching and unclenching at their side. "Would you like to introduce yourself?" Fon prompted, gently.

This was weird, Reborn noted with a dark glint in his eyes. He hummed, curiously, watching the, for once, speechless Mist fumble for words. Harry was smiling politely at the Mist, waiting, though there seemed to be a bemused tilt to his head. Almost reflexively, he smoothed down his fringe over his forehead, though if he was looking to tame his unruly hair, that was probably a lost cause.

"Harry—" Viper finally ground out, stepping a few steps forward. They seemed almost reverent, causing Harry to perk up, expression tensing. "Harry Potter," Viper commended, lowly. "You're Harry Potter," they repeated, almost in awe. They sounded like they were desperately trying to control themselves, but not quite succeeding all the way. Reborn cocked an eyebrow, confused and not really liking the feeling all that much. "I'm—so honored," the Mist murmured.

Harry seemed to have lied about his last name, which instantly raised Reborn's suspicions. Though, it appeared the reason was staring them in the face with how terribly defeated and resigned Harry suddenly became, hunching very slightly into himself. Harry Potter was probably not a name he wanted to associate himself with, Reborn concluded. Still, Reborn didn't know anything notable concerning the name, didn't know the teenager before today, and this only added onto the growing pile of questions he had for the young Sky.

And by his favorite espresso, he's going to get some _answers_.

Downing the rest of his drink, Harry wiped at his mouth and stared tiredly at them, at Viper, with a defeated wan smile. With an exhausted sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing it aggressively. "We-," Harry finally said, expression falling away to a more serious one. No crooked, polite, tired, smiles; an eerily blank expression with a slight stubborn frown dragging at his lips was left in its place. "We have a lot to talk about, it seems."

Understatement of the year.

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read!

I can't help but think of the meme "I'm sorry, but the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, because she's _dead_ " with Reborn's erasing his past self, lolololol.

Shamal's progress with Harry's health will be explained in story, to the rest of the Arcobaleno!

I'm going to go drown in caffeinated chocolate, see ya', peeps!

-mms


	6. Chapter 5

**Hemp Flowers Meant Fate**

 _Chapter 5_

 _This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. If you see a mistake_ _ **, please**_ _tell me!_

 **Warnings:** Rushed writing. General. Poor medical knowledge by yours truly.

 **A/N:** I wrote, rewrote, hashed and rehashed, this to _hell_ and back. I'm not going to lie, I'm not proud of some parts, especially towards the end. I'm not good at writing huge scenes with a _lot_ of characters, so it is really rushed and blah-blah-blah—things like that. ;v I apologize sincerely in advance!

Moving on—when I started this story, I had a timeline, ya' know? Well, that was shot to hell. Like a thread slowly unraveling until it's nothing but a mess. All that was left from the wreckage is that this is set **7-8 years before the Representative Battle of the Rainbow**.

The Viper thing in the last chapter was also unexpected, by the way. So, I'm doing what I can with that—it was unexpected. My fingers gotten away from me when I wrote that. ^^' Alas, with the Arcobaleno finally meeting, I have to start thinking about the ending of this story.

How do you guys feel for it to be around 10 chapters, more or less?

Enjoy!

* * *

Geranium, with a hint of nutmeg.

 _I expect a meeting; expected meeting._

Harry narrowed his eyes at the flowers, the irony wasn't lost on him. With a frustrated groan, Harry tossed them off the side of his bed and tried to go back to sleep. It was too early for this shit, he decided sleepily. His pacifier seemingly agreed, pulsing the addicting warmth and dragging him too easily back into unconsciousness.

-0-0-0-

"Stay still," the tailor ordered, voice crisp and left no room for argument. Harry opened his mouth to say something before he was 'accidentally' pricked with a needle, making him clamp his mouth shut and stare balefully in silence. The tailor was on a house-call to Grimmauld place, due to both Shamal's and Hermione's insistence on getting a custom-tailored suit to wear when meeting the rest of the Arcobaleno.

On one hand, it was pretty relieving to know that the person Hermione hired wasn't blinded by bias to Harry's presence. On the other hand, however—

"Ow!" Harry complained, when the tailor pricked him again. "You know, I don't think tailors are supposed to keep hurting their customers. I heard it's bad for the job," he supplied, mulishly. He also didn't know why this one needed to be so _handsy_.

They had magic, right?

The tailor was an older lady, with stern features and a pursed mouth. Her dark pool of hair, streaked grey with age, were gathered up elegantly on top of her head in a strict bun, and out of her eyes. She smirked rather meanly at him, pinning another fold upwards on the suit she was tailoring for him. "If you'd stop slouching, this would go by faster," she confided.

"This is boring," Harry shifted, earning another 'accidental' prick. At this, Harry turned a rather pleading look towards his two best friends, who were also in the room with him. Ron was sprawled in his favorite armchair, head tipped back and snoring as quietly as he could; Hermione was sitting next to him on a nearby couch, sorting through various papers with a narrowed look. "How much longer?" Harry sighed, finding no help there.

"Just a few more moments, dear," the older lady rolled her eyes.

After all was said and done, Harry was observing himself in a full-length mirror Kreacher had managed to dredge up from the bowls of Grimmauld place. It was a bit dusty, a bit smudged, but it was clear enough for Harry to scrutinize himself. Despite his sickly complexion, with deep bruising around his eyes, and messy hair—Harry liked the outfit, and shifted around to see himself in different angles. It looked nice, despite a slight uneasiness at seeing himself in this expensive outfit. With a somewhat forced indulgent smirk, Harry turned to see an amused tailor staring at him.

Despite the heat crawling up his neck and burning his ears, Harry was determined to be unperturbed. So, what? He looked _nice_ , despite the uneasiness. He'll take these small flares of confidence and indulgence when he could, practically deserved them with all he's been through. "I like it," Harry smiled wanly at the tailor.

Madam Moretti smile was nothing less than pleased. "I'm glad, then," she nodded. "That will be 60 galleons, 4 sickles, and 2 knuts," Moretti told him, already packing up her stuff in her bag. Harry nodded at the amount, eyes trailing back to himself in the mirror.

Despite how exhausted he looked, he actually did look a bit less dead.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Madam Moretti told him, as she was grabbing a handful of Floo powder. Harry was tying his pouch full of money onto his belt, trying to determine if it was a cool accessory or if he should just shove it into his pocket like usual.

Harry was going to tell her the same, before Alfie and Shamal walked into the room. Meeting Shamal's eyes, he inwardly smirked, before turning back to Moretti with a bright smile. "You know, I think I might commission you more often. You really _suit_ me," he made sure his voice carried over.

Hermione made a choked noise, even as Alfie chuckled, exasperated. Shamal let out groan, sending him a narrowed glare. "Oh my god," he muttered, stalking over to an empty seat and throwing himself into it. "I swear you're doing it just to spite me," he huffed.

Moretti had laughed, her stern features softening. Despite her loose and callous disposition, she seemed to carry a sense of humor on her. Harry was definitely going to try and commission her sometime. "You're quite a laugh," she told him, smirking. The smirk suited her, somehow. "See you around, Lord Black."

"I like her," Harry supplied, after she left. He adjusted his suit, looking at himself in the mirror once more. He straightened his shoulders, tilting his chin up slightly. "Despite her pricking me like a bloody cactus over and over again," he muttered.

"You were moving quite a lot," Hermione seemed to recover from his bad pun, the bemused look fading away. It was replaced with her critical one, as she stood up and walked over to him, eying his outfit with a curious eye. "You look good," she finally said, nodding.

"Are you saying I don't look good normally?" Harry huffed, placing an offended hand on his chest. "I'll have you know—"

"You've just now showered and changed out of clothes that you've been wearing for a few days straight," Hermione told him, bluntly.

"—That you are completely right," Harry finished, glancing away. Ron, the traitor, woke up just in time for this exchange and chuckled sleepily. He weathered Harry's betrayed glance, stretching up from the chair and yawning. "Nice of you to join us," Harry offered, feeling a tinge guilty. Ron and Hermione had careers, and were dealing with planning a wedding _and_ helping Harry out at the same time—Harry wondered how they were even coherent at this point, with how tired they looked.

Harry averted his gaze, choosing to fiddle with his cuff, guiltily.

"It's not like I missed much," Ron yawned, rubbing at his eyes. "Watching you get tailored was as boring as Professor Binns' class," he told them. "How are you feeling, by the way? You look good in your suit, mate," Ron was more awake now, nodding.

"Today is the big day," Harry said, mysteriously. He shifted his gaze to Shamal, who was still slumped in his seat. "I honestly don't know how to feel. I kind of want to get it over with, but at the same time," Harry trailed off, fidgeting with his hands. He didn't want to meet them, now that the day was actually here. He felt too wrung-out, too tired, and now—he didn't really know what there was to talk about to the rest of the Arcobaleno.

His original plan was to tell the Arcobaleno that he was going stay out of the way, and do his own thing, and that they didn't need to worry about him. Harry could take care of himself, especially from the mafia if he stayed in the magical community. All of this could be said in a simple letter, now that he thought about it, did he really have to go to this meeting? Maybe he could get Shamal to cancel—

"Don't," Shamal groused. "I can feel your second thoughts all the way from over here."

Harry turned towards him, making a face. "I don't want you to feel me," he replied. While the second thoughts lingered, making him dubious, he knew that Shamal was right. It was too late to change his mind now.

"Harry," Alfie cut through Shamal's sputtering, with a slight roll of his eyes. He pushed up his glasses, stepping forward to get Harry's full attention. "Don't antagonize Shamal too much," he told him. "And please take it easy today, and listen to Shamal. He has more experience with the mafia than any of us here," Alfie warned.

Feeling like a child, Harry blinked then frowned. "I know, I know," he waved off Alfie's concerns. "If you're forgetting, I killed Voldemort. Twice," he held up two fingers, making Ron snort and Hermione sigh. "I'm pretty sure I can handle the Arcobaleno. It's not like I'm going to go there to start a fight."

"If there _is_ a fight," Ron mused. "Then I'm sure Harry could come out on top."

"There _isn't_ going to be a fight," Hermione said, decisively. Her intense brown eyes cut down any protests from Harry, who glanced away and folded his arms. "Honestly, you get into enough trouble as it is. No need to look for it when it can be avoided," she offered, practical. Her look softened, "I just don't want you to somehow get hurt in this," she admitted, slowly.

"No need to fear, _bella_ ," Shamal drawled, with a lazy smirk. "I'm here," he gestured to himself, as if that's all that was needed to reassure them. Hermione gave him a dry look, making Ron snicker; Harry just grinned, even as Shamal adopted an affronted look.

"Look after him too, Harry," Alfie decided, making Shamal glare at him. Giving his old friend a placating smile, he continued, "If you have any trouble, please don't hesitate to call me." Shamal eyed him, before blowing out a sigh and nodding.

"As if I'd do anything else," Shamal waved away Alfie's concerns.

Alfie shot him a quick smile, before glancing back at Harry. "I'll be back later in the evening, Harry, to discuss your treatment further. I have another potion for you to try," he informed, causing Harry to make a slight face. "I do think this one might work," Alfie offered, helpfully.

Ron snickered, "It can't be that bad, can it?"

"Other than the risk of death, it's like drinking warm puke," Harry sighed, inwardly shuddering at the memories. The potions Alfie usually concocted for him didn't really have a formal taste, but rather a tingly aftertaste that either numbed or burned his mouth after drinking it. Not to mention that Alfie had to monitor It closely, as to make sure that it didn't burn away at Harry's lungs or internal tissue, while also making sure that it didn't irritate his already damaged and beaten lungs in the process.

Alfie appeared more enthusiastic about this particular one, though; Harry felt apprehensive, and mildly hopeful. After all, they can only fail so many times, right?

"Oh, gross," Ron looked horrified. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Potions, medicinal ones at that, aren't supposed to taste good," Hermione offered. She cast a _tempus_ charm, frowning at the time. "We need to go," she decided, glancing at Ron. Ron had winced, hunching in on himself. "Ron," Hermione smiled, warningly.

"I don't wanna," Ron muttered. "Malfoy is going to be there, waiting for me. It's creepy," he whined, making Harry snap his attention towards him. Draco was _still_ bothering Ron at work? That was something Harry kept on forgetting to ask about, especially with everything he's been going through.

"Why? What's wrong?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. Thoughtfully. Hermione shot him a long-suffering glance, while Ron glanced away, shrugging. "What?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about," Hermione insisted, shaking her head. Harry felt a twitch of irritation. Having information kept willingly away from him always pissed him off, but—Harry reigned in the irritation, glancing away to frown at the floor. He wasn't some whiny and angry teenager anymore, he reminded himself.

He had bigger things to worry about, after all.

"Fine," Harry muttered, rubbing at his face. "Let's just go before I change my mind," Harry said, sending one brief glance at Shamal. Shamal made an agreeing noise, checking his person to make sure he had everything. "I'll see you guys later."

With that, everyone left Grimmauld Place, heading to various destinations. Ron, Hermione, and Alfie had all left through the Floo network. Shamal and Harry had no such luxury, having to traverse the old-fashioned way.

 _Now, or never_ , Harry repeated to himself. As they stepped out into muggle London, Harry stuck close to Shamal, who had somehow procured an umbrella out of nowhere. The weather was quite miserable, spring still a few weeks away; the chill added onto Harry's clamminess, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. His suit and cloak had warming charms, and waterproof charms, threaded through it; something that Harry wasn't going to tell a grumbling Shamal about.

Especially after he laughed at him when he whipped out his favorite cloak to wear.

"This weather is horrible," Shamal complained, the moment they arrived at their destination. He stomped his feet to get rid of excess water onto the rug, while Harry shuffled his own. "How are you feeling?" Shamal turned towards him, eying him with a trained eye.

Harry shot him a crooked smile, "I feel fine," he shrugged. The coffee place Shamal had chosen was warm, and smelled nice. His chest felt full and heavy, but was easily ignorable due to the pain potions Alfie had managed to bring early this morning.

"Good morning!" A worker came up, smiling sweetly at them. Shamal was eying Harry suspiciously, before his attention was torn away towards the woman. "Are you here on reservation or walk-in?"

"Reservation," Harry nodded, taking off his cloak to fold over his arm. He tugged at his collar, careful to not loosen it too much.

Shamal had practically lit up. "Good morning, _bella_ ," he practically cooed, making Harry raise an eyebrow. The waitress blinked, especially when Shamal got into her personal space, catching her hand and bringing it up to kiss gently. "I have to ask, though: is there an airport nearby, or is that just my heart taking off?"

Oh—oh, jeez.

That was shameless.

Harry felt his ears burn, and he glanced away to stifle an awkward chuckle. He didn't know if he should laugh or hiss at Shamal to ask what he thought he was doing. Alfie had warned him, of course, but—well. _Awkward_ , Harry thought.

The waitress sputtered, face flushing red. "I, erm," she gained her composure quickly. Harry was mildly impressed. She firmly pushed Shamal away, and straightened. "May I ask what your reservation name is?" She seemed to decide that Harry was the safer bet out of the two, ignoring the exaggerated pout Shamal sent her.

"Rochambeau," Harry saw Shamal gear up for another—probably bad attempt at charming the poor waitress. Reaching over, he pinched his arm warningly, causing Shamal to send him a quick glare. Harry ignored him, smiling politely at their waitress. The reservation name was a bit weird, but it, apparently, was to keep anonymity and avoid suspicion.

Harry disagreed, considering that the name made the whole reservation even _more_ suspicious. It wasn't like the muggle world could trace _Harry Black_ to any one person, much less _him_. Still, Harry was used to dramatics, and from the small stories Shamal sometimes gave him—the mafia had a flair for dramatics almost as much as the magical world.

The waitress nodded, and turned on heel, leading them through the restaurant. After taking their orders, she quickly left with a hurried nod. "You made her hate us," Harry accused Shamal, when she was gone. Shamal gave him a narrowed glance of his own.

"I did?" Shamal huffed. "She would have warmed up quicker if you'd let me work my magic," he sighed, wistfully, eyes trailing back where the waitress disappeared. Harry let out a loose chuckle, grudgingly amused at Shamal's words.

"Between the two of us, I think you should leave the _magic_ to me," Harry confided, glancing around casually. Speaking of which, he should really cast privacy wards around this place if he wanted to talk about himself, and the mafia, in this rather public place. His wand was strapped to his holster on his wrist, comfortingly.

Shamal stopped him with a stern frown. "Don't," Shamal warned. "Already took care of it," to demonstrate, he held up a finger. An indigo and misty flame flickered from it, before it faded away. "Alfie would kill me if you do any excessive magic," he reminded him.

Harry felt slightly relieved, though not all that reassured. Flames and stuff were great and all, but couldn't really hold the same assurance that _magic_ could hold. Harry was resigned to feeling restless, though, considering that Shamal was right on some level. Alfie would have their heads if Harry kept on defying him through small acts of magic throughout his treatment.

And—Healers were really scary, Harry found out, when they were at their limit.

"Alfie seems to have high hopes for this next potion," Harry sighed, forcing himself to relax next to Shamal. He felt itchy and paranoid, glancing around restlessly; he had to keep from shaking his leg nervously. Instead, he focused on fidgeting with his cufflinks, loosening them before tightening them again absently. "Did he tell you about it this morning?"

It was going to be a long day, considering that Harry had to wake up _really_ early this morning just to get ready. Hermione and Ron had arrived with Madam Moretti, Alfie appearing twenty minutes later; he came to deliver a fresh batch of pain and cold potions, while dragging Shamal away to answer his questions, and to brief him on what he had planned for his side of Harry's treatment.

Shamal hummed, contemplative. "Alfie was telling me about his theory for how this potion should work. Has he explained the theory behind it to you yet, or?" Harry shrugged, mild. To be fair, he never really _asked_ for a theory behind the potion, only inquiring if it would work or not. As long as it worked, Harry didn't really question it.

Plus, Hermione grilled Harry's poor Healer enough with her own set of questions. No need for Harry to pile onto that.

"I don't think so," Harry said.

"It's really interesting," Shamal enthused. "Have you heard of the disease tuberculosis? It's one of the deadliest disease in the world; it was nicknamed the white plague with how many people it killed," the interest Shamal displayed towards this made Harry sweat drop a bit. Then again, Healers and doctors were like this, right? Interested in these types of things…

Harry had an interest in defense in dark arts, so it made sense that healers and doctors were interested in diseases and illnesses.

"Oh," Harry racked his brain. It did sound familiar, the disease. "Is it like in those old movies, where someone coughs into their handkerchief and when they pull it away, there's blood?" It seemed like something Harry would do now, now that he thought about it.

Shamal snorted, dryly. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. It was a very bad disease, which thankfully died down a _lot_ when the vaccine finally came out for it. It still kills a lot of people, but not nearly as much as it did before." They were interrupted by the waitress coming back with their drinks, who he flashed a flirty smirk at. "Thank you, _bella_ ," he purred.

The waitress sent him a bland look, making Harry snicker. "Thank you," Harry told her, as she set his own drink in front of him. A deluxe hot chocolate, topped with whip cream. He fidgeted with the menu he was given, having already decided on what he wanted.

"It's not a problem, sir," the waitress smiled, sweetly, at him. "Have you two decided on what you guys wanted to eat?"

"Oh, I know what _I_ want to—" Shamal piped up, completely shameless. Harry elbowed him sharply, keeping his attention completely on the waitress. "S-smoked haddock, please," Shamal wheezed out, sending a scandalized glare towards Harry. Harry felt his eyes glare holes into him, prompting him to smile brighter at the bemused waitress. " _Heathen_ ," Shamal hissed under his breath at him.

"Can I have the seeded banana bread with almond butter and raspberry jam? No salted butter, please," Harry ignored his doctor. The waitress sent him an amused smile, before taking her leave. Harry turned towards Shamal, who was sulking. "I don't know what you usually do, but I'm sure it's a crime against humanity for you to do it."

"Says the one who has a horrible sense of humor!" Shamal snapped back, without any heat.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied, taking a tentative sip of hot chocolate. It had a shot of espresso in it, and it combined nicely with the sweetness of the chocolate. His drink chased away the ever-present chill that lingered under his skin, and he sighed into it. "My humor has a certain _art_ to it, one of which that someone of your class can never hope to understand," Harry sniffed, painfully amused at Shamal's suddenly ashen face.

"Oh god, please not another one of _him_ ," Shamal pleaded, under his breath. Harry blinked, momentarily confused. Another one of _him_? Who was him? Before Harry could prod, Shamal sent him a withering glance, making him snap his mouth shut. He smirked indulgently at him instead, and Shamal grumbled a bit. "I still think you're doing it to spite me," he said.

"Maybe I am," Harry shrugged. "Maybe I'm not. Who knows?"

Oh, he was so doing it to spite him.

"Let's just move on with our conversation," Shamal groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Where were we? Oh, right—you know about the disease, right? At least, heard about it from somewhere," at Harry's nod, Shamal grinned. "It's real interesting because, apparently, magical diseases and regular diseases operate a bit differently, especially considering your immune systems."

That would explain a lot, considering that Harry used to be pretty sturdy growing up. He had often felt that he didn't get sick as nearly as much as he probably should have. The only notable times Harry remembers being sick was when he had those bursts of accidental magic, such as turning his teacher's hair blue or whatnot. Was that because his magic was depleted, or whatever?

Harry should really go through another talk-back situation with Hermione concerning her notes about this.

"Well, apparently your magic can take care of pretty much everything _non_ -magical. But if it's inflicted magically, such as a curse, or a magical disease, then your magic can't do much about that without outside help," Shamal enthused. "Tying into our earlier conversation, the magical community didn't suffer from tuberculosis as much as the rest of the world. Still, that didn't mean that you guys _didn't_ get infected, because you did. It just mutated into something that _isn't_ that particular strand of tuberculosis, evolving into something that doesn't eat away at your lungs. Instead," Shamal trailed off, expectantly. His grin was a bit off-putting.

Harry blinked, realization seeping in. "Oh, _oh_ ," Harry smiled, a bit excited. Shamal's own giddiness was starting to rub off on him. "That must mean that it eats away at our magical cores, right?" Despite how morbid it sounded, and was, it was still interesting. Still, Harry's own excitement faltered, and he frowned. "What does this mean for Alfie's potion, though?"

"Let me explain a bit more," Shamal assured. "Seeing as of that the tuberculosis evolved, the magical world took a few years to develop its own vaccine to fight off against it. Meaning that it can be controlled." Shamal puffed himself up proudly, even though Harry still didn't know where this was going. Seeing his confusion, Shamal huffed and continued, "That means that if the disease latches onto your magic, and eats away at it, we have a way to control it," he gestured for Harry to continue.

Harry reluctantly did, "which means that Alfie plans on having it eat away at my disease." It made sense, seeing as of that the flowers were _magically_ induced. Which meant that his flowers were saturated and created from Harry's magic. "Will it work?" Harry tried not to sound dubious. Using a strain of one of the deadliest diseases to fight off another seems—counterproductive.

If anything, Shamal's grin widened. "It should," Shamal assured, waving off his doubts. "I have personal experience in using diseases to counteract each other, after all." At this revelation, Harry eyed his doctor warily. He _was_ a mafia doctor, he reminded himself.

Did mafia doctors torture people by using illnesses?

 _Give me this information or I'll give you pneumonia!_

That didn't sound threatening at all.

Harry almost wanted to ask. Biting that question down, he instead sipped at his drink, contemplatively. What if it _didn't_ work? No doubt they'd continue to try, but—still, it sounded risky. Then again, the options presented to him was dying this way over dying another way. So, he guessed it didn't matter, and he should probably trust the two people who had more experience than him.

He was going to have to consult Hermione about this later, though. Just to make sure.

"How's your progress on the Arcobaleno curse, though?" Harry inquired, turning towards Shamal. Shamal had somehow procured a newspaper, scanning through it with a bored expression. At his question, though, he stiffened for a split second. Harry blinked, and he was back to looked poised and relaxed as ever.

Still, Harry caught that. He narrowed his eyes slightly, pursing his lips. That never boded well, did it?

"It's in the works," Shamal said, mild. His words were slow, contemplative. "The Arcobaleno curse is mostly unknown, and I'm slowly working through magical texts to see if there is any more information about Dying Will Flames. It's—slow going." At Harry's crestfallen look, Shamal hurried on to say, "Don't worry, I'm working on it as fast as I can. I just want you to focus mainly on your lung disease, alright?"

"Can't you tell me anything other than _don't worry about it_?" Harry snapped, folding his arms. Shamal opened his mouth, but the waitress miraculously came back with their food. She seemed to notice the tense silence, and quickly hurried elsewhere after a few assurances that they didn't need anything.

Shamal's expression was nothing short of a wince. "If it helps," he finally said, as carefully as he could. Harry stared stonily at him, mouth pressed into a thin line. "The fact that you're not fully Flame Active could be helping slow down the process."

The pacifier was still hanging around his neck, the warmth emitting from it chasing any type of chill Harry had. It was still hard to think that this little thing could be killing him somehow. Fingering it, Harry asked, "How do you know if I'm not fully Flame Active?"

"Oh, I would be able to tell," Shamal told him. "Flame Actives are usually more in tune with their instincts, and almost always have it running through them at all times. Inactive Flames, if they are accessed, are like—a leaky faucet? They sputter wildly in and out, and need time to control them. It's a tricky situation considering that if you try to active your Flames when you're pass the safe age limit, there is a high probability of you becoming a Flame Reject. And those," Shamal shook his head, expression grim. "Those aren't the type of people that are the sanest."

"There's an age limit?" Harry asked, blandly. "What if someone has no choice in but to activate their Flames past the age limit?"

Shamal smiled wanly. "Your friend, Hermione, was right on the fact that Flames are linked to your personality. They're what you are genetically predisposed to do, which means that if you Activate them young, your personality will have a higher chance of revolving around your Flame type. However, if you wait too long, and your life experiences nurture a very different type of personality, then that will lead into your Flame rejecting you." Harry frowned at this; he made it sound like the Flame has its own sentience.

It was something that unnerved him to no end, at the thought of that possibility.

"Isn't there a way to change your Flame type to match your personality?" Harry ventured to ask.

"It's called Flame Transplant, which also leads to Flame Rejection." Shamal answered, cheerfully. "So, it's best to Activate them young, or to never Activate them at all."

"Is there no in between?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "You just said that I was not a fully Flame Active."

"There is a very narrow spectrum," Shamal conceded, thoughtfully. "Alfie and you had told me your history, and it appears that you do have some experience in accessing your Flames somewhat. While not formally trained in them, you do have the highest potential of safely Activating them well beyond the safe age limit," Shamal smiled. "Which you are not doing, by the way."

Harry blinked. _Blunt_. "Well, duh," Harry said, slowly. If fully Activating his Flames meant dying sooner to the Arcobaleno curse, then that was a no brainer. Besides, his years of adventure and near-death experiences were behind him. There was no monster to defeat, nor any evil to vanquish. Just two curses that needed to be dealt with—

All Harry had to do was keep himself occupied until that happens.

And to not drown in his turbulent emotions in the meanwhile.

"As long as you know," Shamal nodded. "Anyways, back to the Arcobaleno curse; it's a tricky situation, considering that there is hardly any known information about it. Up until now, whoever has been administering it has kept a low profile." Shamal leaned towards Harry, eyes gleaming. "There had been rumors that someone had been in charge of it all, but you just confirmed it for me. It's quite—interesting and worrying at the same time."

"Yep," Harry drank more of his hot chocolate. It warmed him from the inside out. "Do you think the other Arcobaleno have more information about it?"

Shamal nodded, suddenly grim. "I plan on asking them about it when they get here; there's a lot of secrets that they keep from others, especially on their pacifier," Shamal's eyes wandered to Harry's, and he blanched. "Speaking of which, it's glowing."

"Huh? Oh," Harry glanced down at it, indeed noting that it was glowing. "Yeah, it did that for the first few weeks I had it. Don't know why it's glowing again." Huh, Harry thought absently. The warmth coming from his pacifier wasn't more or less, but the glow was a bit eye-catching. "Didn't you say that it would do that if they're near?"

"Reborn told me, yeah," Shamal murmured, distractedly. He sighed, and glanced at Harry's still uneaten plate. During their conversation, Shamal had managed to finish off his own meal. Raising an eyebrow, he turned towards Harry, "Here, I'll go wait for them up at the front, you finish eating."

"No," Harry insisted, standing up quickly. "I'll eat when they get here. I need to go to the bathroom anyways, I'll just wait up at the front afterwards." Shamal looked ready to protest before Harry shot him a stubborn look of his own. "Even if you convince me not to meet them, which I will at some point, I still need to go to the bathroom," he pointed out.

Shamal clamped his mouth shut, petulant. "Fine," he conceded sourly. "Just—behave yourself. These are _mafioso_ ," he reminded him. Harry shrugged.

"And I can take care of myself," Harry replied, scooting out of his seat and walking away quickly before Shamal could respond. Dealing with all the concern and 'looking out for' was irritating after a while. With a low sigh, he asked a nearby worker for the bathroom and was given directions. He wanted to pace anxiously in the bathroom for a few moments, to calm his nerves.

His chest was itching, too.

The moment he locked the bathroom door behind him, Harry's flowers decided to introduce themselves to him. Stumbling over to the nearby counter, his limbs felt exhausted even before the attacks started now, Harry collapsed against the surface and proceeded to hack up whatever was stuffing his lungs full this time. It burned, and Harry didn't think he'd ever get used to the feeling of ripping out his lungs piece by piece at a time. Wiping angrily at his eyes, Harry hissed through his teeth, disliking the familiar taste of blood and gritty phlegm. He pulled himself together after a few more brief moments of catching his breath, and he took the time to observe the clotted and slimy bouquet of flowers in the sink.

Snowdrop flowers.

 _Hope, consolation; a friend in adversity._

Harry huffed, a bit curious about his flowers. A friend in adversity, huh? He carefully grabbed a few paper towels to mop up his mess and flowers. Specks of blood had managed to land on the mirror, and he sighed, moving to clean that too.

He caught himself in the reflection, and he scrunched up his nose.

Blood and bits of petals were dripping from the corners of his mouth, and his skin was ashen. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he tried to rub some color into his cheeks with his fingers. No luck, and Harry didn't even try with the bruising around his eyes. He splashed his face with cold water, running damp fingers through his hair to try and tame it. Try being the keyword.

All in all, despite how expensive his outfit was, Harry looked -and felt- pathetic underneath it.

For the first time, he wondered what his younger self would say to him if he saw him like this. He'd probably be horrified at him, no doubt; _I end up like that? What a miserable life!_ Harry huffed, making sure the flowers were wrapped up and tossed in the bin and making himself looking presentable. His younger self would probably also be determined, _no way I'd end up like that_.

Maybe Harry should invest in hobbies, flex his freedom for a bit. Being holed up in Grimmauld place was nice when he was alone, and by choice, but now that he was practically being monitored 24/7 and stuck there by his own body, it was making him restless.

Feeling like he was taking too long, Harry shuffled out of the bathroom, gripping onto his pacifier for its stable and comforting warmth.

Time to meet the rest of the Arcobaleno.

-0-0-0-

Viper had a past.

Contrary to popular and steadfast belief, Viper, like all the rest of the Arcobaleno, had a past. A past that they'd much rather keep buried, but a past nonetheless. Unlike a certain Sun Arcobaleno who, if rumors hold true, buried their memories literally, Viper chose to keep them because they liked money. And they liked information.

And the information Viper's past held were _priceless_.

If Viper was sentimental, they'd probably claim that it was the memories itself were priceless.

As it was, though, Viper wasn't all that sentimental. And the fact was that they liked money and information. And if they were feeling rather lenient, they also would admit that they especially liked strawberry milk. It was a luxury that Viper hardly indulged themselves in due to liking money just a _tad_ more, and if that meant suffering a bit every time they got a craving, then so be it.

Viper disliked a lot of things, too.

Such as a certain loud and overly-confident idiot insinuating that they were clueless.

 _They were not clueless._

The grudge had buried itself deep into Viper's core, which only loosened just a tiny bit when Skull cornered them in the hotel pub just the night before. They would have ignored the Cloud's apology, brushed it off to the side and stepped on it, if said Cloud didn't offer a peace offering. A carton of strawberry milk, which was obviously the most Skull could afford along with paying the rent at the hotel they were staying at.

Everyone knew that Skull was the most broke out of the Arcobaleno.

Viper had stared at the offering, not really wanting to accept it. At last, they conceded with a displeased sigh, and grabbed it, opening it with as much detachment as they could. Skull had looked visibly relieved, grinning broadly at them. They consoled themselves that Skull was now _broke_ and spent the last of his money on a gift for them, eying the Cloud warily.

Despite being a different type of Cloud, a polarization, Skull was growing restless.

For a moment, Viper sympathized with him.

"I knew you liked the great Skull-sama!" Aannd Skull ruined it, with that loud exclamation and that annoying laugh.

Sneering, Viper said, "I'd sell you, and everything you own, for one shilling." Considering Viper's greedy reputation, and their tendency to milk things for all their worth before disposing them—the fact that they were willing to settle for such a low amount was an insult in itself.

Apparently, Skull caught onto this fact, and sputtered, "Is that really all I'm worth!?"

Viper didn't reply, smirking cruelly at the Cloud. For a brief moment, Viper had forgotten the intense uneasiness that being in England brought. Now, though, traversing the miserably damp and crowded city, Viper couldn't help but feel that uncomfortable tingle crawled its way back to them. It had been _years_ since they were in English territory, and they really disliked being here.

The past that they had long since buried was taunting them.

Still, Viper knew that this area was safe now. Especially after the magical war had ended two years ago, _Voldemort_ having been killed for the last time. Eugh, just thinking that name brought a shudder of disgust go through Viper's small body, and they regulated their breathing tightly. It had been many years since Viper had been in the magical world, much less _England's_ magical community; they saw no reason to return, saw no point.

Viper, like their past, had a family once upon a time.

While not particularly well-known, they were rich and on the rise of being influential. They were also painfully neutral in all sides, and could be easily swayed if they saw any type of financial gain. It was a small family, and Viper was intended to take over when they were of legal age. It was all ruined when _the-one-who-shall-not-be-named_ came into power in the 1970s.

He ruined _everything_.

There's no amount of words to describe how much Viper despised him.

While Viper's family members may have perished, the riches their family held robbed, and left Viper stripped of all dignity—Viper had an advantage that even the Dark Lord did not have. The mother Viper had refused to forget was a very special type of muggle. While not having a lick of magic in her body, she had something else that she had taught Viper the moment they were able:

Dying Will Flames.

After the night where everything was ruined, only a few years before Viper should have graduated from Hogwarts, Viper had run away. It wasn't like there was anything left for them in England, anyways. There was a profound sense of guilt that plagued them for a few years afterwards, because it was _obvious_ that Viper and their family should have seen their downfall coming. At the very least, they should have looked for more information about it, should have been more prepared.

Viper blamed themselves for a bit, yeah.

It was only after Viper was cursed with this damned infant body that Viper suspected it was less of a them problem, and more on the _fate's sick joke_ type of a problem.

Needless to say, when the Dark Lord had first been _killed_ Viper had been satisfied. While the circumstances were a bit suspicious, Viper saw no reason not to celebrate, as long as that bastard was _gone_ , Viper could be content. Of course, all of that was shot to shit when the Dark Lord returned to power, and Viper was on edge for _months_.

Then the boy-who-lived turned man-who-conquered.

Viper, before the second defeat of the Dark Lord, couldn't see what was so special about a brat who had somehow managed to kill him. While it was odd, surprising, nonetheless welcomed, scenario; the brat wouldn't remember what he did, wouldn't understand just how many lives he saved that fateful night, wouldn't understand the praises and practical legends created for him, _about_ him.

It was only after Harry James Potter lead his own army against the Dark Lord, and _won_ , that Viper realized that there might be something more to this brat than they first thought.

Of course, Viper had resigned themselves to never meeting the brat in person. Why would they? Viper was fully enclosed in the mafia now, the same place their mother ran from. She'd have their head if they ever meet again, Viper was sure. Not only was Viper invested in the mafia, they were a part of the _Varia_.

And may, or may not, have been a part of the infamous Cradle Affair that happened more or less a year ago.

Viper was _not_ in a good mood, and hasn't been for a while now. The fact that they were obligated to help find this wayward Sky Arcobaleno, which brought them back to _England_ , they were really not in a good mood. At this rate, Viper was considering paying at least a 4th of their fortune for just _one_ day, _one_ moment, of peace and quiet.

 _Just one_.

Apparently, that was too much to ask for.

It took a lot to surprise Viper nowadays. Like, genuinely surprise them. Even if there was a moment where Viper was caught off-guard, they had long since mastered their reactions and their Flames to ever _show_ it. Point is: it took a lot to surprise them.

 _The_ Harry Potter was their newest Sky Arcobaleno.

This revelation was, by far, one of the most surprising moments in Viper's life.

-0-0-0-

To be completely honest:

Harry found them adorable.

Shamal had warned him of this beforehand, though. Babies they might be, they still held their skills and strengths from when they were adults. They, despite their appearance, were the strongest in the world. Harry was slightly grateful that he didn't get that version of the curse, despite probably getting the 'worse-off' type of deal when it came to the Arcobaleno curse. The last thing Harry needed was to be the same age and size of _Teddy_.

He didn't think he could have handled that.

So, he had to give the rest of the Arcobaleno props for appearing so—normal? Normal didn't seem to be the correct term to describe them, though. Confident, maybe. They appeared more than what their age suggested. Harry was slightly unnerved, and slightly relieved, because while they appeared to be babies, they weren't.

Just…adults crammed into their baby forms.

Jeez, this is awkward.

Reborn, Shamal had told him, was the strongest, and the Sun Arcobaleno. His attire was a little suit with shiny black shoes; his hat was a fedora with a broad orange band wrapped around it. It was tipped rakishly over his head, probably due to the weight of—Harry squinted; an animal?

The most notable, and thus cutest, feature was his curly sideburns.

The next was Fon, who was dressed rather elegantly in red. He, like Shamal had said, seemed to be the calmest of the bunch; he also had a tiny monkey! It chittered, and Harry found to be somewhat weak to cute animals. From what Shamal had said, he was the Storm Arcobaleno.

Colonello and Lal Mirch were interesting. Shamal had desperately warned him not to get on the latter's nerves, and warned him to not mention her corrupted pacifier. Apparently, Shamal had gotten on her bad side before, especially concerning how her own Flame seemingly disintegrated into two different Flame types after being cursed. Colonello was—well, Shamal didn't have _that_ much information on him, other than that he followed Lal Mirch around insistently, up until he took her place as the Rain Arcobaleno.

Colonello seemed to want to show Reborn up, while Lal was just intimidating.

Verde was—green. Just green. A shock of green hair, an indifferent expression, and round glasses, his little lab coat was—ah, adorable. But the glasses where what Harry focused on, considering the fact that he had his own pair safely tucked into one of his pockets. After the war, sometime between helping out the reconstruction of Hogwarts and attending funerals, Harry had felt that he needed a change. He had thought that getting his vision fixed would help him—move on.

It didn't.

Harry was interrupted in his musings from an excited and loud exclamation from a leather-clad baby. His helmet made his voice a bit echo-y, and he oozed confidence. His helmet was—a motorcycle helmet, right? The thought of a tiny baby motorcycle made Harry inwardly snort, wondering if he should ask if he really did have one, or not.

Of course, the conversation steered towards the last unknown baby.

The supposed Mist Arcobaleno.

And then this was where the going moderately well meeting started taking a nose-dive towards the worse. Harry wanted to bash his head into the table repeatedly, internally demanding Shamal to get his ass back here and help him navigate this. Shamal had given him pointers and tips on how to properly handle the rest of the Arcobaleno, but he didn't say anything about them recognizing _him_.

Especially not his old name.

Technically, Harry James Potter was still his legal name, especially in the muggle world. In the magical world, however, he just started signing things with 'Harry Black', and everyone just went with it. Considering the fact that he was technically a 'lord' of the two houses, and had countless, unexplored, vaults that he had been given before, during, and after the war, he was given a lot of leeway. Not to mention the fact that things in the wizarding world were a bit—outdated. His estates and bank statements, along with filing _seriously_ inflated tax rates, were the only thing Harry could have managed to fill out with his new name.

No one ever thought to bring it up formally to him, so Harry just assumed that it was an okay thing to do.

Viper, and seemingly everyone, was waiting for him to speak now. Viper, what an odd name, Harry mused, as he surveyed his empty drink. Not enough chocolate could help the sinking stone in his stomach, and he tried to think about what to say. What _could_ he say? Admitting that he was indeed Harry Potter was opening a whole can of worms that he didn't want to open.

Especially not in their first meeting.

 _Crap_ , Harry cursed inwardly.

"My original name is Harry James Potter," Harry began, reluctantly. He felt so tired all of a sudden, and he had to resist the urge to slump forward onto the table. He shot a quick glance at Viper, who appeared to be more in control of themselves now. "But I now go by Harry Black, so please refrain from using my old name, please," his last name carried too many memories, carried too much weight.

Viper clamped their mouth shut. They gave a curt nod, "My apologies."

Harry sent them a tired smile. "It's fine, you didn't know," he offered, sheepishly. What to say now? He already broke the statue of secrecy with Shamal, but that was on Alfie's insistence. Shamal was one thing—telling a whole group of practical strangers was another.

Even Harry wasn't so impulsive to start doing that.

"Do you know him, Viper?" Reborn asked, eyes sliding from Harry to Viper and back again. His smile was too innocent. Harry inwardly frowned at the tone; despite the question, it felt like he really was giving no leeway in _not_ answering. It was like an unspoken _answer, or else_.

"I know of him," Viper snipped, mysteriously. They had recovered in miraculous time, and Harry felt some tension leave his body. Before anyone could question further, Viper continued, "but if you want more information, that will cost you."

Reborn eyed them, before turning his dark eyes towards Harry. Harry stiffened, feeling like he was caught in a predator's gaze. He flexed his fingers, wondering if he could just apparate out of this situation. He had a feeling that this whole meeting was a mistake. Something like he was confident in taking an exam, but the moment the exam was actually in front of him, he was completely unprepared. Glancing away from Reborn's casual smirk, he looked around for Shamal.

 _Shamal_ , Harry inwardly willed his doctor to come help navigate this whole situation. No such luck, sadly.

"Harry," Reborn prompted. "You did say we have a lot to talk about."

Harry replied, "I did. But wouldn't you guys like—to, you know, sit?" Despite the mocking voice snapping _staller_ at him, Harry casually disregarded it in the name of politeness. "I'm sure we'll get to know each other sooner or later," Harry offered a wan smile, gesturing to the empty seats at the table.

Verde scoffed, pushing their glasses up. "I find no point in getting to know you on a personal level considering the fact that you'll likely end up dead in a few years anyways," he supplied, eying Harry critically. His gaze lingered on his pacifier, though his indifferent expression remained. Harry blinked at the forthrightness of his statement, taking a few moments for it to finally register.

All the other Arcobaleno had turned towards Verde with varying expressions of disbelief.

"You're probably right," Harry laughed, bemused. He fingered the pacifier that hung over his chest, bringing it up to peer at it with a wan smile. Its warmth was a lie, Harry remembered. On some level, Harry understood his reasoning. He, himself, arranged this whole meeting just to tell them that he wasn't going to get in their way, and that they didn't need to worry about him. "I can accept that," he said, cheerfully.

"My dearest apologies about him," Reborn said, tightly. He sent an intense look at Verde, whose expression twitched slightly before he glanced away. "He has no tact," he said, disdainfully. Harry waved him off, not offended at all.

"It's okay, I dealt with worse," Harry supplied. "It's not like I helped arrange this meeting to become buddy-buddy with you guys, after all." At this information, the rest of the Arcobaleno shifted, something heavy lingering in the air now.

"May I ask why you decided to arrange this meeting?" Fon asked with his ever-present smile. He had taken Harry's invitation to seat himself, taking the nearest seat to Harry politely. "I also have some inquiries on exactly how you met Trident Shamal."

Seeing as of that Fon had taken the invitation, the rest of the Arcobaleno followed his lead. Harry observed them all, duly noting everyone here had their own personalities. All of them had very different lives, most of them submerged in the underworld now; Harry felt so out of place here. It was like he was an entirely different character coming from a wholly different story.

As Harry mulled about how to answer Fon's question, Shamal thankfully came back. His cheek was suspiciously red, and Harry smirked at him, causing Shamal to send him sulky glower. Their waitress followed, looking indigent and flustered, pointedly ignoring Shamal. She hesitated at the sight of the rest of the Arcobaleno, momentarily confused.

"Hello, and welcome," she gathered her bearings. Harry had to admire her ability to recover so quickly. She passed around some menus, continuing, "do you know what you want to drink?" As she took orders, she sent one last sweet smile towards Harry. "And what about you, sir? Do you want a refill?"

Harry brightened. "Yes, please," he nodded, sending a slight glance towards a petulant Shamal. "What about you, Shamal? You finished your coffee. Perhaps you need some tea, instead?" He leaned towards him, smile growing ever-so slightly. "Like some positivi- _tea_."

"You hate me." Shamal stated, probably dead inside. "That's the only possible reason I can make concerning your horrible humor."

Laughing, feeling oddly relieved at Shamal's presence, Harry turned towards their poor waitress. "He might want a refill too, please," he smiled, pushing both of their empty glasses towards the waitress. She took them numbly, gave them a short nod, and hurried off, dazed. "I think we should give her a large tip," he concluded.

"Of course, having to deal with your horrible humor," Shamal groused.

"I was thinking more along the lines of having her deal with _you_ ," Harry supplied, glancing at Shamal with a crooked smile. "You might call it working your magic, I'm calling it embarrassing," specially to witness. Public displays of affection always made Harry feel awkward, more so if it was awkward and fumbling attempts at _flirting_.

Ginny's long-ago valentine to him in his second year replayed cruelly in his head, and he felt the old wash of embarrassment come over him.

"It's called being a _gentleman_ ," Shamal protested, with a heavy roll of his eyes. His smile was indulgent, though. "And I'm merely showing my appreciation towards a natural beauty like herself." Harry snorted, dryly, glancing away from his doctor. Shamal took the time to observe the rest of the Arcobaleno, smiling politely at them all. "I do hope that Harry didn't somehow offend you guys while I was gone," Shamal said with suspicious glance towards Harry.

Harry pointedly ignored him, fidgeting with the edge of his cuffs. His wand was pressed nicely into the crook of his forearm, the tip jabbing his wrist. It seemed to remind him that even if he felt out of place, that didn't mean that he was completely helpless. "I hope I didn't somehow manage to offend you all, either," he finally said, slowly. "And to answer your question, Fon, I arranged this meeting to come to some sort of understanding with you all."

Reborn spoke up, eyes gleaming underneath the broad shadow of his hat. "What type of understanding?"

"A mutual understanding?" Harry hedged, carefully. "I want to know what being an Arcobaleno exactly entails. As Verde had helpfully reminded me of my impending doom earlier, I do understand that my version of the curse is a short lifespan." Perhaps shorter than normal considering the fact that he was still grappling with the flower disease. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"The Arcobaleno Pact, kora," Colonello nodded, after a few contemplative moments of silence. "It's a rule within all the Arcobaleno to not attack each other in any way." That would be easy to follow, Harry noted.

"Alright," Harry nodded. "Anything else…?"

"We also have own version of a secret code call the Arcobaleno Secret Code," Reborn stated, leisurely. He had finished staring intently at Shamal, who seemed momentarily frozen. Harry eyed the both of them suspiciously. Whatever happened there, Shamal seemed to break himself out of it, and Reborn seemed momentarily satisfied. "Our pacifiers can reveal it, if you do happen to receive a letter in code," Reborn gestured to his own glowing pacifier.

"Neat," Harry commented, internally frowning. When was there ever going to be a time for him to use it, though? The rest, he can understand due to them probably being in the mafia. Paranoia was threaded into their blood, at this point; Harry could relate, though for differing reasons. "Do you guys know more about how the pacifiers work?"

Shamal perked up, slightly.

Viper spoke up here, still staring in that unnerving way at him. "I've done some research in how they work," they said, voice painfully bland. It was a far-cry from their earlier meeting, and Harry wondered if meeting him really was _that_ surprising for the Mist Arcobaleno. "It appears that they serve as a conduit of your Dying Will Flame. Much like the Vongola Rings of the Vongola Famiglia."

Conduit? Harry hummed, thoughtful. So, kind of like wands in terms of magic, except of being your helpful little companion, it was slowly killing you and draining you of your will to live. Fun.

"Do you," Shamal jumped into the situation while he could. "Do you know exactly how it works?"

"Why would you want to know?" Reborn raised an eyebrow at the doctor. Shamal was saved from answering when the waitress came back to them, setting all their respective drinks down. She hurriedly took some orders, flashed another wan, sweet smile at Harry, before walking away in the same hurried manner from before.

Harry observed her hasty exit. "Do you think she wants us to leave?"

"Nonsense," Shamal waved off his concerns, sipping at his refilled drink with a sigh. His expression was pinched, slightly. Meeting Reborn's eyes, Shamal straightened and continued, "I have decided to be Harry's primary doctor in terms of his health. I figured it'd be helpful if I know more about the pacifiers, is all."

There was something more lingering in his words, Harry noted. Especially with how everyone else's attention focused sharply on Shamal, who was stubbornly keeping his chin jutted forward in vague confidence. His grip on his drink was tight, the whites of his knuckles showing.

At last, Lal laughed. It would have been more humorous if there wasn't something sharp there, almost hysteric, almost hallow. A short bark of a laugh, and she grinned sharply at Shamal. "You can't possibly think that _you_ have a chance of unraveling the Arcobaleno curse, do you? How _stupid_ ," she accused, and Shamal cringed slightly. Harry twitched, frowning slightly at the baby. Was that really such an absurd idea to tackle, trying to break the Arcobaleno curse?

A familiar twinge of despair tugged at his heart, and Harry stubbornly ignored it. He was tired of being fickle in this matter. Still, it was a bit disheartening to hear that not all of the Arcobaleno took the mere _idea_ of breaking the Arcobaleno curse seriously.

"I'm sure it's possible," Harry interjected, as Shamal clenched his jaw. He looked a bit flustered and annoyed, not a good combination for a trained _mafia_ hitman, Harry was sure. Lal shot him a critical look, and Harry smiled wanly at her. "It won't hurt to try, at the very least," he prodded, making Lal snort quietly.

"There's no point," Lal decided. "The only one who can possibly break the curse is the one who administered it." Almost subconsciously, she cast a disgusted look onto her own corrupted pacifier. "It's best to accept that while you can," she told Harry, seriously.

Harry made a slight face, smoothing out his features afterwards. _Acceptance_. Dumbledore's visage haunted him, making his stomach churn slightly and a painful twinge in his chest. The prophecy was something Harry accepted, his own _death_ was something he accepted; Harry should be the poster boy for all the acceptance he had shown in accepting the shit hand he's been given by life.

Honestly speaking, Harry felt so _tired_ of accepting everything so easily.

While he understood that there were some things that can't be helped, surely there has to be a line somewhere. Maybe that line was different for everyone. Harry wanted to find his. And if that meant looking for a cure for both of his curses, so be it.

Harry dealt with worse, plainly speaking.

His pacifier felt warm.

"Like I said before," Harry replied, smiling wanly. "Even if that is true, there's no harm in trying." To be, or not to be—if there was even a _sliver_ of a chance of curing the curse, Harry was going to grasp at it. Otherwise, he'll be kicking himself over it for the rest of his life.

And on the bright side, if this somehow doesn't work, he won't have much of a life left afterwards anyways.

So, win-win!

"Tch, whatever," Lal groused, stubbornly. She seemed to disregard their conversation as something serious, eying him sternly. "Don't come crying to me later," she said, making Harry shrug, mild. As if Harry would ever run to someone crying like that anyways.

He angsts alone.

"If you don't want to help, that's okay," Harry continued, decisively. The hot chocolate and the warmth of his pacifier was giving him more energy the more he basked in them. "Shamal and I were just wondering if you guys could provide us with some more information about being an Arcobaleno, and how this whole curse might actually work to give us some leeway in helping solve it. If not, that's fine, but any help will be greatly appreciated," Harry let his eyes linger briefly on Viper.

"Mou, I will offer my assistance any way I can," Viper piped up, causing every other Arcobaleno to glance at them. They pointedly ignored them, flashing Harry an almost bland and indecipherable smirk. Harry wondered if he should talk to them privately.

That—would probably be the wise thing to do.

"Hm," Reborn's expression was unreadable. "Of course, if you think that you have an actual lead in solving this curse, we'll offer our help anyway we can. Granted, we _know_ exactly what's going on," he warned, shooting a brief glance towards Shamal, who grimaced back.

"Not my secret to tell," Shamal muttered, awkwardly.

"It's complicated," Harry hedged, carefully. He sipped his drink, relishing the heat as it crawled down his throat and into his stomach. When he admitted the magical world's existence to Shamal, he had declared that he had earned his keep with how much shit he's been through since entering the wizarding world.

Which—well, he did.

It wasn't exactly the Ministry that kept him from biting his lip on the subject, though; hell, it wasn't even the _Dementors_. It was the fact that while he did generally disregard the rules in the face of overall picture -he refused to use the term _greater good_ -, the fact that if he introduced the rest of the Arcobaleno to the magical world, that means he'll basically be _responsible_ for them.

Him.

Alfie was able to keep Shamal in line, was basically the one who inducted him into the wizarding world. While it was Harry who spilled the beans, it was Alfie's idea. Still, Harry mulled the idea around in his head, staring contemplatively into his drink. There was a chance that this could work, and Harry would be just a _dick_ if he kept this to himself, kept the information of a world that could _help_ them.

Brutally honesty was something Harry always appreciated.

His friends were going to kill him.

"The mafia is real," Harry mused. "Which seems pretty farfetched, right? Well," _I have something that is also very farfetched_. Shamal stiffened next to him, and elbowed him, expression torn bewildered and disproving.

Shamal's expression screamed, _what are you doing!?_

Harry tried for a confident expression, caught between grimacing and grinning. _Whatever I want_.

"Well, it's a long story," Harry turned his attention back to the rest of the Arcobaleno, smiling wanly. He sent a reassuring look at a stiffening Viper, whose mouth was pursed tightly. "And I'm going to probably be in a lot of trouble if people find out that I am willingly telling you all this—but you see, I am rather against holding information, especially if I believe that it could benefit all of us in a long run."

 _For the greater good_.

With that, he sighed and started a very long story.

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read!

 _I wound to heal_ flowers predicted Alfie and Shamal's temporary solution for Harry's flower curse.

I am too addicted to cliffhangers, forgive me.

If there is anything you want to happen in the story, please tell me! I need ideas, haha-

#burntout

-mms


	7. Chapter 6

**Hemp Flowers Meant Fate**

 _Chapter 6_

 _This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form! If you see an error, please don't hesitate to tell me!_

 **Warnings:** Rushed writing. General.

 **A/N:** I finally finished this after a few months of slowly writing it! I want to thank everyone who reviewed last chapter! I've been reading them and taking everything into account when planning for this story! ^^ It will be longer than I had originally thought it would be, but that's a good thing, right?

I also want to mention that a pal of mine, **Shikigami1991** , has opened up a Discord server on Harry Potter crossovers! :'D It's been really cool to see and talk to other authors about their crossovers, and it also has a really helpful writing reference section that I adore! So, if you're interested in talking about Harry Potter crossovers, and maybe even help with ideas and such, please leave a review, or PM Shiki or I for an invite code! ^^

(They also have a HPxKHR crossover story, **Just Happenstance** , that is really off to a great start!)

Enjoy!

* * *

Harry had been sorely tempted to begin with, "It started from before I was born."

But that would have been inappropriate, as much as it would have been hilarious to see their reactions. Harry also didn't want to delve into his past, and the prophecy, the war and Voldemort; that was too personal, too intricate, and honestly too much effort. The past was the past, mocking and stagnant, and as far as Harry was concerned, not his place to tell.

Not that he wanted to tell in the first place.

Instead, Harry told them the basics. The wizarding world, the government structures, and culture surrounding the magical community. While Harry couldn't speak for all places in the world, he could speak quite well on the British magical community and some vague current affairs happening. A few bumpy missteps and disbelief here and there, but apparently having someone like Viper backing you up gave you a lot of credentials.

"Interesting," Verde murmured in a small pause, looking almost feverish. There was an unhealthy gleam in his eyes as he stared curiously at Harry, who stared blandly back. "Do regular scientific laws apply to your world? Is there a scientific explanation for your magic?"

"I don't think that's what we're supposed to be focusing on!" Skull shot the scientist a look.

Verde sniffed, "What else is there?"

At this, Skull sputtered. "I don't know; something _other_ than the scientific logic of it all, maybe?"

After a few moments of dull staring, Verde dismissed him, sniffing. "Boring," he muttered.

Shamal turned towards Harry, expression still pinched and resigned. "Alfie isn't going to like this," he murmured to him carefully. "And I doubt your friends will, either." At the mention of Hermione and Ron, Harry withheld a wince, averting his gaze.

"Too bad," Harry replied, just as quietly.

Too bad, indeed. Harry had chosen to give them information over keeping it, and that's that. The more he dug this hole, the more confident he became, because honestly? The wizarding world can suck it, because Harry had dealt with their shit for so long. Thinking about the wizarding world and all had a small amount of irritation built up, minimal compared to the still ever-present wonder that the wizarding world brought to him. It seemed that every wonder the wizarding world brought him came with varying consequences that chipped away at him; it would be his luck, wouldn't it?

Nothing good ever came to Harry Potter without something bad happening in exchange.

"Please ignore Verde," Viper piped up, having moved closer during their talk. "He has his quirks," at this, Viper sent a slight glance towards the scientist.

"Don't we all," Fon smiled gently, and Viper seemingly shot him a hostile glare. Said baby seemed used to this, turning his attention towards Harry; his ever-present smile was nice to see, almost pleasant. It almost put Harry at ease, almost—only if Harry wasn't too wary of people who smiled constantly, that is.

"Hm," Reborn's had his sharp, almost scary, focus centered on Harry since he began. If Harry was any lesser than he was, he would be slightly intimidated. As it was, Harry was Harry, and he only shot the small hitman a wan smile. "I suppose so. Thank you informing us of this," Reborn seemed almost unsure of how to word that, going slowly.

"Ah, it's no problem," Harry waved him off, shrugging carelessly. "Honesty is the best policy, after all."

"There are things that are meant to be kept secret," Viper said, mysteriously. They still seemed vaguely off-put at disregarding the law of the wizarding world, which could possibly mean a kiss of death from Dementors—Harry took the time to smile disarmingly at them, suddenly reminded that yeah, spilling the beans about the wizarding world was often a harrowing and dangerous thing.

At the very least, they could be obliviated.

And Harry wouldn't like that, not one bit. He had enough of people messing with his mind, more-so after Snape's and Voldemort's stint of running around in his head, tearing down his defenses and whatnot. Bloody ridiculous, that's what it was.

"How could I have kept it a secret if it could help?" Harry's word was a bit self-depreciating, and a whole lot tired. Resigned. Because Harry was incapable of _not_ helping someone out, even if it was just the littlest of bits.

Viper eyed him, before seemingly exhaling silently. "Of course," they muttered. "Still, that begs the question," Viper eyed the rest of the Arcobaleno with a pursed frown. "What do you all feel about this?"

Ah, the golden question. Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on the palms of his hands, staring at them as well with a wan smile. "Yes, I am eager to know as well. I know it's a lot to take in, but I assure you that it's real, and I'll be willing to answer any questions concerning it," he offered with a firm nod.

"Magic is real," Lal was the first to respond, tone almost flat.

"Yes," Harry replied, faux-cheerful. "Yes, it is."

"Magic is _real_ ," Lal reiterated, a bit more forceful.

"Um, yes," Harry blinked, bemused. A feeling of wariness slowly wove through him, and he shifted a bit, to shake off the weight of it. "Is there a problem-?"

" _Yes,_ there's a fucking problem!" Lal hissed, startling him, making him sit straight. Lal was glaring holes right into him, furious. Just when Harry was about to ask about _what_ , though he had a sinking feeling he already knew, Lal continued. "And the problem is: this is _bullshit_."

"Lal," Colonello spoke up, reaching forward to place a calming hand on her shoulder. He barely got past a centimeter before Lal dropped-kicked him away from her, causing him to slam onto the floor.

"Lal," Reborn warned, tightly.

"This is all bullshit, and you all are stupid enough to believe it," Lal declared, anger clear in her voice. Her burning gaze never left Harry, and Harry couldn't help but feel a bit—something, a bit affronted, yes, but also a bit regretful. "If you believe fairytale shit like this exists, then you're all out of your goddamned minds."

Tirade done, she dismissed herself from the group.

Harry could only watch her walk away with a slight frown, feeling unsurprised and unhappy at the same time. Colonello had threw himself after her, after muttering a short, "Wait a sec, kora! I'll—get her—Lal!"

And just like that, both of the Rains were gone. What were their Flame properties, again? Something about calming, or something like that; Harry couldn't help but feel that was a bit off, though, considering their rather—dramatic exit.

"What an unnecessary scene," Verde finally commented, bored. He seemed to dismiss the tense silence between all of them, especially the one between all the other babified Arcobaleno. Harry only hummed, unsure of what to say.

While he probably should have expected an outcome like this, Harry wasn't really planning on telling them in the first place. If this was something he expected and planned out with a good outcome, he'd be a bit more disappointed. As it was, Harry decided that this was how it goes, and tried to settle with that.

"Is that all you can say to this?" Skull muttered, taking off his helmet. He looked winded, and exhausted, with his wild violet hair sticking up in some places and matted with sweat in others. His makeup was slightly smeared, and he kept glancing at the exit, the direction the two Rains left in.

Verde shot him an irritated look.

"I apologize for their behavior," Fon seemed sincere, smile dropping a tad. "Lal has always been a no-nonsense type."

Reborn was eerily quiet, a large shadow halving his face from the broad brim of his hat.

"It's okay," Harry tasted the words carefully, still a bit unsure. "It can't be helped. What I am telling you is pretty far-fetched, even by underworld standards, right?" Harry glanced at Shamal, partly hoping for him to save him from this awkward territory and partly for assurance.

Shamal sighed, sipping at his drink. He seemed to bask in it, tiredly staring at him with a short quirk of his mouth. "It's not your fault, almost everything nowadays requires a certain suspension of disbelief. You presented the facts as honestly as you could, and if she can't accept it, that's her problem."

"To be honest," Skull piped up, taking long swigs of his drink. Harry wanted to ask why he didn't take off his helmet earlier if he was that thirsty. "I would have thought Verde would be the one to be the most stubborn out of us all in not believing you."

"Everything is much more interesting to believe and pursue until proven incorrect," Verde snipped, sending a dismissing glance at the Cloud.

"That's surprisingly optimistic for you," Skull muttered.

"That's besides the matter," Reborn finally spoke, seemingly out of his silence. He was sipping his espresso calmly. "I must agree with Fon, and I'm sorry you had to witness that. But it can't be helped, I suppose. I assure you, though, that the rest of us are more than willing to help."

His voice left little to no room for argument.

Harry nodded absently, reaching up to tug at the pacifier and to rub at his chest. While he still felt a bit of discomfort stirring underneath his skin at Lal and Colonello's sudden departure, and how it was still his fault no matter how one looks at it, he tried to focus a bit more on task. "I'm happy for that," he hedged slowly. "All that aside, though, my original stance still stands. If you have any questions, or concerns, please don't hesitate in asking."

"I have a lot of them," Verde told him promptly, pushing his glasses up.

"Any _general_ concern that also applies to the current issue at hand," Viper instantly snapped back.

Verde shot them a look, smirking slightly. "I have a lot of those as well," he replied.

"I have some inquiries," Reborn seemingly ignored them. "Is there any information on Flames in the magical world? If so, that might be a potential lead in helping us solve our problem," he brushed his own hand against his yellow pacifier, emphasizing the problem. Harry briefly wondered how they must have felt, how they still must feel, about their current forms as babies.

It must have been hard.

Harry tried to imagine it or apply any of his past experiences to help empathize more with them. He supposed it was one of those cases where they were lead into it, because he highly doubted they would have accepted it easily due to Lal's bitterness about everything and their tense awkwardness concerning the situation. He could relate to that much, Harry mused. After all, once upon a time, Harry had been led into a prophecy and fulfilling it.

Was it like this?

Harry remembered the first flowers to emerge from his flower curse. Hemp flowers, he had learned. Fate. Was there really something like fate stringing everything together? It seemed almost like an absurd idea, turbulent and cruel, in how it crossed Harry's mind. No, he decided after a few seconds of toying with it.

No matter if fate was a real concept or not, it shouldn't affect how Harry made choices.

It was, after all, choices that showed who you truly are far more than your abilities. While Dumbledore was playing fate's hand in his life, Dumbledore was the one who chose to do so. There was a million and one ways to have defeated Voldemort, and even more ways things could have fallen differently—

Harry took a sharp drink from his cup, urging to heat to counteract the cold ache that sprung in his core. As much as he loved Dumbledore, he still somewhat hated him at the same time. Even now, he was still using his teachings now, as he tried to focus back on task and mulling over an answer.

"Yes," Harry offered shortly. He cleared his throat. "Though, not as descriptive and well-known as they are in your—group," he hesitated, unsure of what to say concerning their crowd. Underworld? Criminals? Mafia world? Harry would feel cheesy saying any of them.

"That isn't to say that it's a lost cause, however," Shamal was quick to inject. "The magical world has an impossibly vast array of resources, which is why learning more about the pacifier is essential. If we can figure out how the pacifier works, we might be able to figure out a plausible solution."

"There are limitations, of course," Viper bit out. "But—yes, the magical world is not all that useless in some cases." Their voice was bland, and a tad bit too forceful in their enunciation, causing Harry to glance at them, curious. It was only too obvious to Harry that they knew him, or at least knew of him, and it was also obvious that they had a background in the magical world as well.

He wondered if their background ended sorely, to appear bitter about the wizarding world.

"Speaking of," Skull was pushing his straw around in his cup, playing with the lingering ice cubes. "You knew about this? About them?" He pointed the straw in Harry's direction, and Harry raised an eyebrow, keeping a polite smile on his face. "And you didn't tell us?"

Viper sent him a cool glance. "Are you willing to pay for such information?"

Skull blanched. "Well, no," he muttered.

"Exactly." Viper seemingly dismissed him. Money seemed to be a big deal for them, Harry noted. "And it's besides the point. I, in my free time, have been studying the pacifier and its workings for a while, and am willing to share my notes about it with you." They addressed Harry, though seemed vaguely off-put about it.

"Do I need to pay for it?" Harry joked weakly, fidgeting with his sleeves. The edge of his wand was pressed comfortingly against his forearm. Viper gave him a slight twitch of their lips, as they observed him with the same quiet intensity they seemed to have for him.

"No need," they replied, vague.

"Hm," Reborn hummed. "Awfully generous of you, Viper." Viper didn't react, focused on their pet. Harry noticed that almost all of them had pets, though only a couple of them were present. Shamal had told him about them, and he briefly wondered if they were linked to their flames like how some magical pets were linked to their owner's magic.

"It is generous," Fon agreed pleasantly.

"Your point?" Viper inquired, balefully.

"It doesn't matter," Verde huffed. "I am also willing to offer my assistance in this investigation. The only thing I ask in exchange is a chance to study your world as well," he insisted, that feverish gleam in their eyes.

Skull stared disbelieving in Verde's direction. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

"Oh, sure," Harry agreed slowly. "I have a library in my house, as well as bookstores—if you want, I can assist you in that regard." Though Harry wondered if he could get away with just pre-ordering stuff from bookstores and various other places because being in public was daunting if you were Harry Potter.

"Marvelous," Verde seemed pleased. "I'll be delighted to help, then."

"It seems that it's settled, then," Reborn finished off his espresso cleanly. "Viper and Verde will stay here in England to assist you for however long they can stay," he declared, unperturbed at Viper's sharp glance towards them. "I'll be available for anything you might need my help in, though I plan on heading back to Italy soon."

"I'm afraid I can't stay as well," Fon smiled. "Though I doubt I could have been much help in the first place."

Skull had opened his mouth, but snapped it shut, glancing away awkwardly.

Harry smiled, hoping to convey his sincerity in it as much as he could.

However, he apparently took a breath in wrong and his lungs itched, his reflex kicking in and he barely had time to bend over sharply. He shuddered through a coughing attack, forehead pressed against the table and covering his mouth with a hastily grabbed napkin. His mind scattered as the ringing in his ears increased, and he barely noticed Shamal pressed in his side, and his hand awkwardly patting his back.

Something earthy tinged in his mouth, and Harry knew another string of flowers emerged. He could feel its stem still in his throat, and he coughed a few more times, mind trying to comprehend what to do now. He briefly debated with himself, if seeing what his flowers could tell him or mock him was worth it enough to take a quick run to the bathroom or not.

Ah—fuck it.

Harry swallowed, grimacing.

After a few moments, Harry took the time to gain his bearings back. The ringing decreased, and his mind became a bit less scrambled, though his body still trembled, and his throat and chest ached. Something tangy and metallic lingered in his mouth, and he let out a low sigh. Exhausted, he slowly sat up and blinked at the rest, Shamal still close to him.

Shamal's expression was pinched, awkwardly pulling back.

"Fucking hell, that sounded rough!" Skull exclaimed, eyes wide. "Are you alright?"

The absurdity of the question made Harry chuckle, self-depreciating and sardonic. "Depends," he muttered. "But mostly, yes. Just a bit of a chest infection, nothing a bit of medicine can't cure," Harry shrugged, wanting to diminish the attention off of his other curse.

"…Of course," Shamal agreed with a sigh. "Nothing to be concerned of," he drawled, checking his watch and frowning. "Speaking of, I think it's a good time to head back, don't you? It's been wonderful seeing you again, Reborn," Shamal nodded towards Reborn, who took his eyes off of Harry to smirk at him.

"Sure, sure," Harry drank the last drop of his drink, hoping to wash away the taste of blood and green. Afterwards, he dug around his pocket for a spare pen and hurried grabbed another, thankfully clean, napkin and penned his address on it. "Here's my home address, anyone can visit when they want."

Viper accepted the napkin, expression carefully blank. "Any time in specific?"

"Anytime is good for me, though I might be a bit groggy in the mornings," Harry shrugged. "I also do like my quiet time in the evenings before bed," mostly because he can't even barely fall asleep an hour or so before actually going to sleep. It was mostly overthinking things and deeply brooding, which—yes.

It does feel rather pathetic to think about.

"Other than that, I'm free," Harry finished.

"Expect to see me tomorrow, then," Verde declared. He didn't clarify a time, which made Harry twitch at, but he nodded anyways. As everyone got ready to leave, and as Harry paid for everyone by leaving a few hundred pound notes on the table -he still felt a bit gracious to their waitress-, he was tempted to say something.

Maybe something cryptid, like, 'good luck'. Or maybe a bit more generic like 'goodbye'.

In the end, he decided for something a bit more genuine.

"Thank you for coming to meet me. And if anyone of you happens to see Lal or Colonello—tell them I apologize."

It seemed like a good note to end on.

-0-0-0-

Today's flowers were oak-leaved geranium.

In order to spruce up the offices of each Auror, the flowers have been put and changed quite regularly. He found it a bit ironic, and he stared thoughtfully at the pot of flowers near his office window, mind trying to pin down a definite meaning to this type of flowers.

 _True friendship_.

Sighing, he returned back to his desk, and tried to focus back on what was consuming most of his lunch break.

"Should I invite my cousin Cadmus?" Ron asked, tapping the pen against his temple as he stared contemplatively at the unfilled wedding invitation in front of him. The pen was a gift from Hermione _and_ Harry, gifted to the whole Weasley family. A wonderful invention, if Ron could say so himself.

His father absolutely thought so, too.

Hermione glanced up from where she was lost in thought, wrapped up in the guise of multitasking with paperwork and helping with the wedding invitations. "Who?" Her quick mind processed his words, and she frowned, a crease forming between her brows. "Isn't he the one who's been accused of inappropriate behavior in public?"

"No, no; that's my _other_ cousin, Cyneheard." Ron shook his head. "This one is an alright bloke."

Hermione's eyes shifted and lost focus again, "Okay, if you say so."

Ron stared at her and glanced down at their wedding planner and wedding invitations. As of late, with all the happenings with Harry and the Malfoy prick, Ron was throwing himself headfirst, shamelessly, into the wedding planning. It wasn't that much of a change, to be honest, considering that Ron was always a bit more passionate about the wedding ceremony and was a bit more familiar with them than his fiancé. Hermione, like Harry, was almost nonchalant with the wedding process and the culture surrounding it—

He still remembers in his nightmares of Hermione simply suggesting a quick visit to Gringotts to just get the deed over with.

One does not _simply_ get married like that!

Ever since their understanding of Ron's horror at that suggestion, and Hermione's pragmatic need with no flourish—Hermione and he had things going smoothly, because as much as Hermione didn't crave flourish and find fulfillment from going through the steps, she understood there were _steps_ , and she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she wasn't the best at going through them.

She was amazing like that.

"Is something wrong?" Ron gave in with a sigh, leaning over to tap his finger against her hand to gain her attention. Hermione startled just a tiny bit, eyes suddenly sharp and landing on him with a pursed expression. "Sorry," Ron shrugged, and Hermione huffed.

"Nothing's _wrong_ ," Hermione replied back seamlessly, and her gaze wavered. "Actually," she started, and Ron internally groaned and laughed at the same time, leaning back in his chair and watching expectantly. "It's about Harry."

Ron wanted to roll his eyes. "Yes, yes, I know that much. You've been off since this morning. Are you worried for him meeting whoever he's meeting? It's just a meeting, ya' know? And kind of needed too now that I think about it." How else will they gain more input on the secondary curse Harry was dealing with than others who are dealing with it as well?

At the very least, form a support group. Merlin knows Harry needed some form of it, despite both Hermione and Ron being there for him. Because as much as Ron liked to think he's now one of the closest friends Harry has, there were some instances where they fell a bit short, a moment of understanding that Ron just _didn't_ understand what Harry was feeling or going through completely.

Oh god, did Ron hate those moments.

Hermione shook her head, leaning back in her own chair. It was one of the other ones that was stationed in front of his desk, and Ron was confronted with the giddy feeling of actually having an office like this. "No, not that. It's about us keeping this whole Malfoy thing from him," she explained.

Ron hurriedly shushed her, a bad feeling creeping up his spine. "Shush! Speak of the devil, and they shall appear!"

"Oh, please," Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's just some silly superstition."

The bad feeling intensified, and Ron had enough time to send her a disbelieving glance before his door was forcefully swung open.

"Where is he?"

"Even during my lunch break?" Ron groaned, letting his head flop forward and slam into the desk. Hermione had stiffened when the Malfoy entered, mouth pressed into a thin line of distaste. "Can't you piss off for even a second, Malfoy?"

"I demand to speak with Potter," Draco Malfoy insisted tightly, glaring coldly at the redhead. "You two have been practically barricading him from me, and it's getting tiring." Ron clicked his tongue, dragging himself up and slumping back into his chair, staring tiredly at the other man.

There were a few moments of silence as Ron mulled over it. At last, he shrugged carelessly, and shot a mean smile at Draco. "He's not available."

Draco looked a moment away from having an aneurysm.

"What we mean is," Hermione interjected, sighing at Ron's pleased expression. "Harry is going through a bit of a spot right now, and he can't be bothered with something that can be resolved without him. And yes, this implies that you tell _us,_ and we could possibly help you," Hermione bulldozed over Draco's noise of protest, eyes narrowing slightly.

Draco was stubborn. "It has to be Potter," he enunciated slowly.

"Oh, piss off!" Ron threw his hands up in frustration, before banging his head down onto his desk. He grunted from impact, and complained under his breath, "I swear to Merlin, braining myself is better than trying to compromise with you, you prat."

"Excuse me?" Draco didn't look any better, expression twitching. "I have stated, quite clearly mind you, of what I wanted since the very beginning. If you two weren't being so damn difficult, this matter could have been resolved a long time ago!" He gestured sharply to emphasize his point, and Ron looked ready to chuck a thick manila envelope at Draco. "Now, if you two continue to be such a hindrance, I fear I might have to resort to drastic measures such—"

"Oho? Such as what? Having your father hear about this?" Ron shot back, mocking.

It was as if the room depressurized, the air pressure and temperature spiking before dropping drastically. A flash of guilt crossed Ron's expression, but he was nothing if not proud and he kept his stare evenly on the blank-faced Draco. Draco's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles whiting. Hermione's eyes darted back and forth, swallowing the reprimand down her throat and trying to logic their way out of this conflict.

Conflict, though, became a lot more difficult when it became interpersonal.

"Want to repeat that for me, Weasley?" Draco finally uttered, teeth clenched. His expression was still blank, though there was an underlying tension threatening to crack it.

For a moment, Ron looked like he was contemplating repeating what he said. But—he slumped in his seat, ignoring the sharp edge of anger and pride still stabbing into his chest, and conceded with a sigh. While back in Hogwarts, Ron wouldn't care so much as a rat's ass about offending a prick like Malfoy, there was the fact that they _weren't_ in Hogwarts now. They were both adults with their own lives, their own goals.

Ron wasn't the Ron he was back then, a moody and argumentative prick with insecurity issues. And Malfoy wasn't the same Malfoy as he was back then, either; Ron had to remember that they both went through a lot, and while it was quite unsavory and awkward meeting him nowadays—

The past should stay in the past.

"My apologies, Draco," Ron finally muttered, ignoring the hot stab in his core. He met Draco's eyes sincerely, and Draco paused, expression stony. "What I said is out of line, and I am truly sorry for it. But," he tacked on, and Draco's expression soured. There was always a _but_. "The fact of the matter is that Harry has a lot on his plate right now. If you truly in desperate need of help, I'm willing to help."

" _We're_ willing to help," Hermione offered, paperwork and wedding invitations forgotten.

Draco pulled back, expression now unreadable. He paced to the window, arms behind his back; from their point of view, they could see his short nails digging into his arm tightly. At last, the tension in his shoulders dropped just a tiny bit. "As much as I appreciate your offer," Draco said stiffly, turning towards them with a transparent and strained smile. Smiling never seemed right on Draco's face, never seemed to fit, and when it did happen to appear, it was a just a pale imitation.

It was unnerving and sad to look at, honestly.

His words made Ron slump even more, a tired exasperation layering over him. Was there really no compromising in this situation? Was he really that desperate for Harry's help? Harry's pale and tired face flashed through Ron's mind, and he clenched his own fists, frowning; no, Harry didn't need to help, shouldn't help. Harry deserved to focus on himself for a bit, focus on recovering.

Ron wasn't going to back down from this, and nothing will change his mind—

"Fine," Hermione's voice cut through his thoughts. Ron sputtered, whipping his head to stare incredulous at her. Draco twitched, eyes flickering to her. "We'll tell him about your situation. We'll let him decide." Ron huffed, gesturing wildly.

"What? Hermione," Ron tried to protest, causing Hermione to turn her stern stare on him. "I thought we both agreed that Harry doesn't need to know! He's too _eh_ ," Ron said.

"We're not his keepers, Ron, as much as we act like it," Hermione rebutted, bluntly. "He's old enough to make decisions for himself." Ron would disagree, as should Hermione considering Harry _could_ make decisions on his own, but he hardly ever made a good decision for _himself_. Example, this whole double curse scenario!

"Really? Does he?" Ron asked, partly rhetorical and wholly dubious.

"He's mature enough to handle it," Hermione shot back, face set. The gleam in her eyes already made something wilt in Ron, and he fidgeted, making a face at his fiancé. "Are you really fine with going on like this, not trusting him to take care of himself? Not to make decisions for himself? Because the fact of the matter is—he is indulging us at this point," she finished with a heavy sigh, and Ron twitched, wanting to brush his hand against hers while also wanting to huff and fold his arms defensively.

But he knew what Hermione was talking about.

Harry was almost a master of ignoring his emotions, almost to the point of being oblivious to them. He was also very stubborn and kept things to himself, liked to burden himself with his own thoughts, his own grievances, everything. He hated being pitied, he hated being coddled, and he hated it when people treaded on ice around him and kept information from him, despite becoming more lenient now that the war was behind them. And it took a long time for Ron and Hermione to break him down, to even get a _glimpse_ of what he might be feeling and thinking.

Even then, Ron had a sinking and worrying feeling that Harry was still out of reach.

Ron had considered writing a helpful guide, probably titled, 'How to deal with Harry Potter and his martyr struggles.' Then again, considering Harry's almost paranoid nature—maybe just a private journal will do.

Still, Ron was very proud of his place in Harry's life. And yeah, he figured both Hermione and him should be used to Harry's near-death experiences, considering how often they occur. And that Harry always ended up okay by some sort of fate's luck, or something like that. One would think that they should be used to it by now.

(It was bloody exhausting and sent an almost hysterical worry shooting through Ron, with a hefty dose of fear, every time it happened.)

Harry was probably restless and slowly suffocating with how Hermione and Ron treaded around him, with being confined to his house. Healer Alfie's almost constant vigilance, along with Dr. Shamal's constant supervision—there was a tension building up in Harry's tired posture, his turbulent and vehement expression.

As much as Ron wanted to keep holding onto this small amount of control, wanted the assurance that he's doing his part in protecting Harry—he knew that it was unfair to his best friend. And that Harry was only letting Hermione and Ron act as gatekeepers to the Wizarding World, and its problems, because he's guilty, and indulgent.

And that it couldn't last forever.

The best thing in this situation, Ron's mind told him, was de-escalation.

"Fine," Ron finally grit out, and Hermione sent him a flash of a breathless smile, and Ron's stomach squirmed. He settled for brushing his fingers against hers as she gathered up her stuff, having decided that their shared lunch break was over and that she needed to go. Draco watched sullenly. "See you after work, love," Ron waved at Hermione as she made her way outside.

"See you soon," Hermione's curt response was with dulled and soft edges, and Ron smiled.

This left Draco and Ron alone together, with Draco stiffly sitting himself in one of the plush office chairs in front of his desk. Ron stared at him, before setting aside his half-eaten lunch and pulling out a blank sheet of parchment. "I'm glad we reached an understanding," Draco offered at last, amidst the awkward silence.

"So glad," Ron replied a bit bluntly. An understanding, yes; between them and Draco? Not in a long run. "I don't know what is so important that Harry's involvement is an absolute necessity, but I swear on Dumbledore's grave that if you're only involving him in hopes of him being incapable of saying no—"

Ron leaned forward, and Draco's expression became guarded, their shared stare intense and heavy.

"I will make your life a living hell," Ron finished quietly, and Draco surveyed him, before conceding with a toss of his head, averting his gaze. He gave a minute nod, and Ron felt a brief surge of satisfaction. " _Now_ we reached an understanding. Let me clock back into my shift, and then we can talk."

As he left, Ron swore he heard Draco mutter a short, "Finally."

It shouldn't have been as amusing as it was, and Ron only shook his head. His thoughts strayed to Harry, and how he was holding up meeting the rest of the Arco-whatevers. He still didn't trust Shamal, as amusing as the man was, but—he trusted Harry.

Ron trusted Harry to take care of himself, and to make decisions for himself.

Because Ron didn't really mind Harry making decisions for himself, he realized; he just hated it when Harry thought he had to go through with it _alone_.

-0-0-0-

"Seriously? A _chest_ _infection_?" Shamal asked later, after they made it back to Grimmauld Place.

Harry countered easily, "Am I _wrong_?"

Shamal didn't bother to reply, rubbing his face tiredly. "So?" He finally spoke, as Harry slouched in his seat and was watching empty air. Harry blinked and glanced at him curiously. "What do you think of them?"

"Interesting?" Harry mused, not really finding any words to describe them other than that. "Viper seems to know what's up, though, which is really curious. And surprising. Honestly, if they didn't say anything, I probably wouldn't have explained about the wizarding world as blatantly as I did."

Again, Harry's mind briefly brushed upon the capricious word, _fate_.

"Nonetheless, it is a bit relieving to have help from the others, even if a couple of them are out of commission," Shamal grimaced lightly, at the slight mention of Lal and Colonello. It wasn't unsurprising, Harry reminded himself. "But I have to ask about your earlier incident, your coughing attack. Was it just that, or did something…?"

"Come up? Yes. I swallowed, though," Harry shrugged, making a slight face at the memory.

"Was that wise?" Shamal seemed perturbed, frowning at him. "If your magic wants to tell you something, do you really think it's wise to?"

"It's—not, well," Harry was going to say it wasn't sentient, but at this point, it might as well be. Predicting the future and divination wasn't something Harry was all that knowledgeable about, and while he doubted it could really be that— he figured his flowers seemed to be like little fortune cookie predictions, an almost intuitive feeling so slight that it could be implied for almost everything in Harry's life.

Kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"Then it's going to be pissed when I start taking Alfie's medicine," Harry finished promptly with a careless shrug. "Besides, we got what we wanted," somewhat, at least. "Do you have any idea what the pacifier works, by the way? Or were you just going to start from scratch using both Viper and Verde's research on it?"

"Of course, I do," Shamal seemed slightly offended at the notion of anything anywise.

Harry sent him a slight smile. "Forgive me for suggesting otherwise. It's kind of hard not to think of that, though, when all you've been telling me was 'not to worry about it', or pushing it off," he shrugged, causing Shamal to blanch.

"I figured that that pacifier might work by draining your Flame, kind of like devouring it. And the reason that the Sky pacifier shortens your lifespan because it's working with the other pacifiers by regulating them somewhat, though I'm not sure how that really works out. Still, as long as your body can produce your Flame, it will be like a parasitic cycle that goes on and on until you die."

"Wonderful," Harry muttered.

"But," Shamal continued, leaning back in his own seat contemplatively. "If it _is_ a cycle, then that leaves us with two options. Either breaking it completely, or," he frowned, tapping his fingers against the table in front of him. "At least continuing it in a way that detaches itself from all of you. An isolated cycle? I think."

Devouring another to fulfill its own needs. Harry was vividly reminded of his second year, of Voldemort's horcruxes. Of course, to make a horcrux was to do something so horrible in order to tear a piece of a soul away and into a designated object—Harry felt a sudden apprehension at the thought of somehow tearing this curse away from him, of the other Arcobaleno, due to its possible repercussions. And the lengths they might have to go just to get rid of the curse in the first place.

"But we can't know for sure until we figure out exactly how the pacifier works," Shamal assured him quickly, after glancing at him. Harry carefully smoothed over his expression, blinking at the doctor. "Until then, it's all just a hypothesis, and that is why I never really spoke about it much. A baseless hypothesis is hardly anything to go by, after all."

"The hard part is over now, I think. So, it should be smooth sailing here on out." Harry desperately tried to believe his words, despite the cynical and cryptic voice murmuring in his head, a sliver of doubt lingering as a bitter taste on his tongue.

Shamal only sent him an empty smile, as if privy to his thoughts and feelings. "Knock on wood," he enthused, faux-cheer.

Without missing a beat, Harry rapt his knuckles sharply on the table in front of him.

* * *

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read!

Take control of your future by swallowing!

;v

-mms


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